


Harry of Avalon

by Athy



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthurian, Avalon - Freeform, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Merlin - Freeform, king arthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athy/pseuds/Athy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of five, while gardening, Harry Potter is faced with three beautiful elven women who say they are from Avalon, and that they have a prophecy that pins him as their savior.  They take him back with them and he is trained and prepared to battle a demon who has been sealed on the island for generations.  At age 14, Harry battles the demon, pulling it through the mists and into the mortal realm to separate it from it's power so that he may kill it.  It just so happens that the field he pulls it into is where the Malfoy's are performing their Midsummer rights, so they bare witness to the shocking event, and the death of a demon.</p><p>Lucius realizes who Harry is and strikes up a deal before sending Harry to Dumbledore.</p><p> </p><p>Part of my series of Abandoned Plot Bunnies. Story is up for adoption. Discontinued/Abandoned Story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry of Avalon

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to one of the many abandoned plot bunnies that I've written and given away.
> 
> I will never finish this. It is up for adoption, but don't get your hopes up. Nearly none of the stories I've put up for adoption, have ever actually been continued - even when people express permission and say they'll do it, they tend to lose interest and never post them. If they do, I'll post a notice here saying it's been adopted.
> 
> If you are the type of person who just HATES to read unfinished stories, then you'd may as well pass this one by.
> 
>  
> 
> This story takes a lot of bits and pieces from from old Arthurian legends about Merlin and such, based mostly on Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia. I have not actually seen any movies or TV shows about the Arthurian legends or Merlin (Yes, really, I haven't seen them – any of them). The only exception is the old Disney Sword and the Stone, and obviously that hardly counts at all, so there is no attempt or expectation at all for any of the bits and pieces of Arthurian legends mentioned in this story to match any movie or TV show canon. I'm also only basing a few foundational things on Geoffrey's Historia, and then taking it from there with whatever rubbish my mind makes up in order to suit this story.

 

It was July and it was blisteringly hot.  A small, thin arm reached up and wiped across the forehead of a young boy, who was red-faced with exertion and sweat.  He was kneeling in a flowerbed, just under the front window of a perfectly plain looking suburban house, on a perfectly plain suburban street, somewhere in Surrey, Britain.

The small boy let out a tired sigh and stretched forward again, putting the weight on his muddy knees and one hand while the other began to pull out more of the stubbornly deep-rooted weeds.  He could hear the sound of other children playing in the distance.  Laughter, and the sound of bicycles riding down the street.  Other people, having fun.

There was the sound of someone's sprinkler running in the yard across the street, and the occasional sound of a car driving somewhere in the not-too-far distance.  But the world of young Harry Potter was made up entirely of his chores, and more specifically, his present task in his aunt's garden.

Maybe, _just maybe_ , if he did a good job, she'd let him have a bit more food tonight.  Maybe she'd even praise him a bit, for making her garden look so nice.  He'd heard Mrs. Number Three complimenting his Aunt Petunia about it just the other weekend.  Maybe...

But no.  Harry's aunt never said anything nice to him.  Most certainly nothing resembling _praise_.  Sometimes, in the bleak darkness of the cupboard under the stairs, where he was ensconced every night, he would let himself despair that they would probably _never_ find any value in the efforts he made.

After all.  He was worthless, wasn't he?  Hadn't they told him as much for as long as he could remember?

His aunt.  His uncle.  And his awful whale of a cousin that had taken a liking to using Harry as a punching bag ever since they'd started school the previous fall.  Harry's sixth birthday was coming soon, but he knew it would go unobserved, just as all the birthdays before it had.  He wasn't even really looking forward to the coming school year.  While it meant a certain amount of reprieve from the housework his aunt would set him to, it left him too often at the clutches of his cousin, and the ridicule of his peers.

Harry sighed again and sat back on his haunches, once again wiping the sweat from his brow and taking a moment to look around.  His eyes landed on the water sprinkler across the street and his mouth watered.  He was so hot, and _so_ thirsty.  What he wouldn't give for a glass of water. Or to actually _run through_ that sprinkler!  That would be marvelous!  He'd seen other kids doing it and it looked brilliant.

But then the strangest thing happened.  All of a sudden, the air seemed to grow _heavy_ , and right before his eyes, the wild spraying water droplets seemed to slow down.  They grew slower and slower until they came to a complete stop.  Motionless, frozen in mid-air, as if someone had taken a picture, or frozen time.

Harry blinked in shock and looked around hurriedly to see if there was anyone else around to notice the strange phenomenon.  He stood up slowly and cautiously and took a few steps closer to the street, but soon came to a stunned stop.

Further down the street were the kids playing on their bikes.  They too, were frozen in mid-motion.  Another two boys seemed to be tossing a ball back and forth to each other, but the ball was held in mid-air, having just been released from the swing of one of the boys.  Down in the opposite direction, a car was driving down Wisteria Walk where Privet Drive met it at a T, but the car was not moving.

Nothing was moving.

Everything was frozen.

Harry's heart began to beat furiously in his chest as confusion and panic set in.  What if this was one of those freakish things that his aunt and uncle were always blaming him for?  Oh, he'd be lucky to even _see_ any food for a week!

But it was one thing for his teacher's hair to somehow turn blue when he got angry at her for believing Dudley when he said Harry had cheated, but this?  This was.... this was _too much!_   Surely no one could blame him for this!?

But he was the only one not frozen. 

Just as Harry was about to panic and run back into the house, there was a huge _CRACK!_ and a shock wave rocketed through the air, colliding with Harry and sending him flying onto his back.  He shook his head, trying to clear it of the dizziness, and pushed himself to his elbows.  He blinked in stunned shock at the bright swirling vortex of light that was spinning before him, sunk a foot or so into the road.  He could see through it and beyond the vortex itself appeared _water_. An ocean of water. 

Something appeared to be moving closer to the event horizon of the vortex, from the distance – a boat, sailing in the water.  It came to a stop, as if it had just docked, right at the edge where the vortex opened and the water transitioned suddenly into concrete street. 

Harry sat there, watching and not moving, as several people – all women – stepped out of the boat and through the portal. 

The three women stood for only a moment before they reached up and pulled back the hoods of their unseasonably warm-looking heavy cloaks.  Harry's eyes widened as he took in their beatific features, and their oddly pointed ears.  One of them held up a device and Harry nudged himself back a few inches before scrambling to sit up more properly.

“Wha –“ Harry began to say, but was cut off suddenly as the women turned to each other.

“This is the one?” one asked.

“Yes.  It is as your soothsayers foretold,” said the one holding up the device, that appeared to be mostly made up of a large clear misshapen crystal with coils of metal wrapped around it.

The third turned to Harry and observed him for a moment, cocking her head slightly to the side curiously.  “He's so small.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry grumbled, and finally pushed himself to his feet.

“I am Moronoe,” the one with the device said.  She had long flowing brown hair that came in gentle waves down to her bottom, and crystal blue eyes.  Her voice was melodic and Harry's argument was cut down instantly by her soft, yet commanding tone.  “We have come here for you.  What is your name?”

“M-me?” Harry stuttered.  “Why – er... My name is Harry.  If you don't even know my name, how can you think you're looking for _me?”_

“The Tandemite Stone does not lie.  We have been searching for one, that fits our needs for several years now,” one of the others said.  “I am Thiten, the master over Avalon's soothsayers.  Our most skilled was finally able to determine that if we extended our quest to the olde world of men, we would find what we needed.  The quest has lead us to you.”

Harry frowned in both confusion and disbelief.  “But what could you possibly need someone like _me_ for?”

The three women shared a look, but said no words for a minute.  Finally, Moronoe turned back to Harry.  “It was foretold that we would need to find a boy who had been killed, but did not die.”

Harry blinked.  “Huh?  But... but I've never been killed.”

“The Tandemite says that you have,” Thiten said simply.

“Well, then it's wrong,” Harry said, frowning more deeply. 

“It is never wrong.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest further but stopped.  “Well... my parents died in a car accident when I was a baby.  My aunt says that's where my scar came from,” Harry said, pushing his messy black fringe up and exposing the lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

“Haul.  It's Saewelo,” the third woman whose name Harry still did not know, gasped in a quiet hush.  Thiten looked at her meaningfully and nodded.

“You are marked by the sun,” Moronoe stated.  “You are the one we seek.  You will come with us.”

“Wait, hold on!” Harry said suddenly feeling rather worried and defensive.  “What if I don't want to?  I mean, I don't even know who you are!  What do you want with me?  What's going to happen if I come with you?”

“We will teach you; _train_ you.  You have a great destiny to fulfill.  One that only you can perform.”

Harry shook his head, feeling lost.  “But that can't be right.  I'm... I'm nobody.”

“Whatever you were before this, Harry, of men.  You are most certainly not a 'nobody' any longer,” Moronoe said, in a more gentle tone now than before.

Harry gaped at them for a moment longer before swallowing thickly.  His mind was spinning with disbelief, but also a strange glimmer of hope.  Hope for escape.  Hope for something _better_. 

“What are you?” he whispered finally.

“We are of the Fae,” answered the third woman.  “I am Glitonea of Avalon.”

“Avalon...?” Harry echoed.  “Like... like in the stories of King Arthur?” he whispered in awe.  He'd read a little bit in the school library the previous year.  When he'd still been able to hide out there to escape his cousin; before Dudley went and ripped up a couple books and blamed it on Harry, getting him banned.

The women shared an amused look before turning back to Harry.  “Yes, young Harry.  Although, it is likely that your history has distorted a great many of the legends over the years.  Last time I checked, the tales of men had labeled the great Morgan as your King Arthur's half-sister,” she began to giggle and it sounded like bell chimes.  “Such nonsense.”

Harry nodded dumbly, still gaping slightly.  “But... but I thought it was all just made-up?” he whispered.  “Just fairy tales.”

“There is far more truth to faerie tales than you'd likely believe,” Thiten said, grinning.  “Come with us Harry.  I promise you won't regret it.”

Harry swallowed another thick lump in his throat and paused.  He looked back at the house his relatives called home, but that he mostly thought of as his own personal prison, and then up and down the street that held nothing but bad memories of ridicule, fear, and shame for him.  He thought about going back to his cupboard under the stairs and pretending that none of this had ever happened, versus going with these three, strange, beautiful women to _Avalon._

He turned back to them and shakily shook his head.  “O-okay,” he whispered.

The women smiled at him, and they really were beautiful.  Moronoe held out her hand.  “Come then, Harry of Men.  I shall take you to Avalon.”

Harry took a few shaky steps forward and hesitantly extended his hand until it came to rest in her palm.  She guided him towards the still glowing vortex and he stepped through it with no small amount of trepidation.  As he passed through the event horizon, he felt almost as if he were stepping through a wall of water, but he came out on the other side, perfectly dry.  His foot came down into the boat and Moronoe had to support him as he stumbled for a moment, unsure of his footing in the boat.

The other two fae followed them, taking seats in the small wooden boat.

“This is our Scapha.  It will take us to Avalon,” Thiten said simply.  Harry nodded and watched as Moronoe waved her hand back towards the vortex where he could still see Privet drive amongst swirls of light.  But the image suddenly vanished with a flash and a bang, and they were left with nothing but calm water as far as the eye could see.

“The journey will take us several hours,” Glitonea said.  “The seas will get rougher when we near the isle, but the boat is enchanted, so do not fear.”

Harry nodded dumbly, seeming to have decided at some point to stop questioning things and just go with it until things started making sense again – or he woke up and discovered it had all been some heat-induced delusion.

– –

_The Isle of Avalon, or Insula Pomorum was once known by man as the Fortunate Isle. It was known as such because the isle was happy and blessed in the abundance of fruits and all good things.  Serviceable by nature, the vines and plants brought forth valuable forests.  It's hilltops clothed with vines growing by chance; in place of grasses, there are commonly vegetable and grain, and it's mountains rife with minerals of great power and magical value._

_It is the place that the Fae escaped to when they left the world of man behind many long years ago.  An island in a sea that goes on forever, cut off from the olde world by magical forces beyond the understanding of mortals.  A place that no mortal man can reach on his own without being granted passage first by one of the nine immortal sorceresses who govern the isle._

_Yet, despite the isle's reputation of 'fortune' it is not a place free from conflict, nor a place isolated from everything.  The population of Avalon have problems all their own, great and small.  They are isolated only from the world of men._

_– –_

Mid-Summer, June 21st 1995

Beckhampton Longstones, near Avebury Truslow

 

“Father, how much longer do we have to stay here?” the impatient fifteen year old blond asked as he roughly kicked at a small rock in the grassy expanse he found himself standing on.

“We will stay until the rite is finished, Draco,” his father, a tall and very proper-looking man with fine long blond hair said, in a calmly reprimanding tone.  He was kneeling on the ground in front of a large stone neolithic monument that, as far as Draco was concerned, looked to be little more than an extremely oversized rock with moss growing on it. 

“You are perfectly aware of the significance of this place and the power it holds,” his father, Lucius Malfoy, went on to lecture sternly.  “These monuments lays as a focal point to many of Britain's most powerful lay lines.  Half way between Trelew Henge and –“

“Half way between Trelew Henge and Hopton-on Sea, yes, yes,” Draco drawled in a bored tone and glanced over at his friend, Blaise, apologetically while mouthing the word 'sorry'.  The dark-skinned boy just shrugged and began to play with a pair of omnioculars he had gotten in preparation for the Falmouth Falcons game they were supposed to go to that evening.  He held them up to his face and looked into the distance where a few houses at the edge of Avebury could be seen.

“Don't take that tone with your father, young man,” came the reprimanding but smooth tone of Draco's mother as she walked over the hill, holding up the hem of her long robes.  “You should be grateful that your father allowed you to bring your friend with us.”

“I rather doubt Blaise is thankful,” Draco grumbled as he stuck his hands into his trouser pockets rather forcefully.  He wasn't pouting, because Malfoy's don't pout.  Despite this fact, what he was doing would likely be mistaken for a pout by anyone who didn't know better.

Lucius Malfoy shot his son a sharp glare, and the younger blond grimaced slightly before huffing and walking over towards his friend by the smaller of the two large neolithic rocks.  Lucius let out a small, annoyed growl before turning back to the larger of the two stones and taking out his wand.  He was kneeling before it and spread his arms, palms up to the sky, wand resting, balanced, in the palm of his right hand.  He turned his head skyward and closed his eyes while quietly whispering the beginning of the rite under his breath.

He was only a few lines in when he felt the air grow eerily heavy with strangely powerful magic.  Lucius faltered in his well-practiced speech, but pressed on a moment later when things seemed to settle down a bit.  Another pulse of magic shot through the air and this time, he dropped his wand and stopped. 

He opened his eyes and his hand instantly reached down to pick his wand back up as he turned around, eyeing the surrounding expanse cautiously.  His wife, Narcissa, was looking around worriedly as well.

“Darling?” she asked in a cautious voice as she came over to stand just behind her kneeling husband's back.

Lucius stood up slowly, eyeing a spot in the gently waving grass about fifteen meters from the two large stones.  Draco and Blaise looked around in confusion, clearly searching blindly for the source of the strange waves of unusual magic in the air.  Lucius' eyes widened as the spot he had found his eyes drawn to in the field seemed to pulse in waves.  The tall yellow and green grass seemed to be rippling, like water that had a leaky tap above it.  A rhythmic dripping of water, falling into it, bringing rippling rings with each drop.

Only the drops weren't visible, and it wasn't water, but grass that seemed to be rippling with concentric rings every few seconds and building in frequency and speed.

“Lucius?” Narcissa whispered fearfully as she reached over and wrapping both of her hands around his left bicep.

“What the hell is that?” Draco whispered, frowning with worry.  Blaise just shook his head dumbly, holding the Omniocular by it's handle loosely.  Draco turned and looked at him, then at the magical recording device and his eyes widened.  “Are you getting this?”

Blaise blinked in confusion for a moment before his eyes traveled to the omnioculars and recognition dawned.  He quickly held it up and twisted one of the dials to begin the recording. 

As is the nature with anything interesting, and cameras, the very moment he started it, the phenomenon seemed to suddenly stop.

“Bugger,” Blaise grumbled and was about to lower the omnioculars as the rings of energy stopped completely and the grasses smoothed out again.

“No, wait,” Draco said, holding his hand up to stay Blaise's movements, but his eyes were still trained on the same distant spot.  The grass may have calmed back to normal, but the magical energy in the air hadn't decreased at all.  In fact, it was still intensifying. 

The group held their breath, unsure what to expect, when suddenly a thundering _crack_ echoed through the air causing them all to flinch rather violently.  A bright flash exploded about ten feet from the ground, but even after the flash had dimmed, there was a glowing _thing_ remaining in the air.  It was like a broken crack in clear glass, with shimmers of bright white light coming through the crack.

Another bang echoed through the air along with another flash.  When this one subsided, the 'crack' in the air was even larger.  Draco found himself holding his breath, unsure what to do or expect next.  When the next thundering bang shot through the air he was slightly more prepared for it, but he was _not_ prepared for the sound of shattering that came with it, or the blurred shape rocketing through the air through the spot and shooting across the air for a good fifteen feet before crashing into the ground, kicking up dirt and grass.

Narcissa yelped in shock and clung more tightly to her husband, who was now aiming his wand at the spot in the grass where the _something_ had fallen.  His wand flew back up to the crack as another thundering bang echoed through the air along with the sound of more shattering.  What was once a crack was now a large broken _hole_ with cracked glass edges, and a bright whiteness inside, blocking out any vision of what might lay beyond. 

The brightness was suddenly blocked by the silhouette of something very _large_ coming into view.  The _thing_ blocked the light and the Malfoy family and friend stood, shocked and motionless as a clawed, long-fingered hand that was probably larger than dog, by itself, curled over the edge of the cracked opening.  The thing maneuvered with frightful speed considering how enormous it appeared, and moments later, it had pulled itself over the edge and leapt down to the ground, causing the surrounding area to shudder and rumble.

A horrified, strangled, whimper escaped Draco's throat as he took in the creature's appearance.  Huge cloven feet, covered in black fur lead up to a tattered but ornately decorated loin cloth hanging from narrow hips.  The upper torso was fundamentally the shape of a man, but the skin was charcoal gray with bright glowing turquoise markings decorating the muscled flesh.  Horns and spikes decorated the elbows, forearms, clavicles, and spinal column.  The hands were huge, powerful, and had long black talons curling at the end of each finger. 

His neck was thick and muscled, leading up to an angry looking face that was vaguely human, but mostly monstrous.  Sharp, jagged teeth filled it's mouth while a pair of oversized tusks came up from each side of the bottom jaw.  The nose seemed more bull-shaped than human, and his brow was oversized and jutted out in order to support a pair of humongous curled horns that raised up over his head a good four extra feet.  The eyes had no pupils, but instead were solid glowing orbs of turquoise.  The hair on his head was long and black and extended down his back to his shoulder blades where a pair of enormous, tattered-looking, bat-like wings came out.

As he stood up to his full height after climbing out of the crack in the air, he stretched his wings wide, and then belted out an earth shattering roar that sent the Malfoy's and Blaise to the ground, ducking behind the henge stones.

Draco noticed movement and saw that his mother and father were waving frantically to get he and Blaise's attention.  His father had an emergency portkey in his hand, but Draco was too terrified to cross the ten foot distance that existed between the smaller stone that he and his friend were hidden behind, and just frantically shook his head instead. 

Narcissa gasped and pointed and attention was drawn back to the spot in dirt where the first figure had crashed, just in time to witness a figure staggering to it's feet and groaning slightly.

A teen – male, obviously – stood and cracked his neck left and then right before placing his hands against his lower rear hips and bending backwards.  Draco heard his back make an audible pop and cringed slightly.  Finally the boy seemed to let out a relieved sounding sigh and then stood straighter. 

The teen was dressed oddly in what looked like battle leathers, and an ornate waistcoat with a form-fitted top covered with a leather-like protective vest, but a loose tail from the waist down that went to his knees, and parted down the rear-center.  Hanging from his waist was on a heavy belt, what appeared to be a _sword_ of all things.

The teen chuckled darkly.  “I knew you wouldn't be able to resist following,” he said smugly as he smirked up at the enormous beast looming a short distance from him.

The demon growled menacingly and took several heavy, earth-shaking steps towards the teen, who readied his stance and let his right hand go to the handle of the sword at his waist, seemingly ready to draw it.

“I will not be denied my sacrifice!  I will feast on your flesh, impertinent mortal,” the demon snarled.

“There will be no spilling of my blood for you this time, Abatu,” the teen laughed and smirked.  “This time, we end it.”

“End it?” the beast laughed loudly, and Draco flinched and crouched down further against the stone he was hiding behind and brought his hands up to his ears against the sound.  “You are nothing more than a weak, pathetic, mortal, made of flesh and bones that I will snap and pick at my teeth with, before this day is done!”

“Ah, but you followed _me_ here,” the teen said cockily and took a few strafing steps to the left, never taking his eyes off the creature or his hand off the hilt of his sword.  “You really ought to have considered the ramifications of such a brash action before doing it.”

“Ramifications?” the demon Abatu scoffed and laughed again.

“I created that portal, and I controlled what could pass through it,” the teen declared, still smirking smugly.  “This is the mortal realm, Abatu, and that portal, in case you haven't been paying attention... _just closed.”_

Abatu swung around and Draco darted his head out just enough to find that the large glowing cracked expanse was, in fact, gone.  Now there was nothing there but open air.

The beast snarled angrily and roared, shaking the very air that surrounded them and sending Draco back down, huddled against the large monolithic stone.

“You think you can imprison me here?” Abatu roared.  “You may have saved those pathetic enchantresses and their avalon of fae, but I will find my way back to them and take what is mine!  And until then, I will enjoy my time here and feast upon the flesh of mortal men!  You have saved your precious elves only to doom your own kin by bringing me here!” the beast roared with laughter, smirking around his large sharp tusk-like fangs.

“The only one that is doomed is _you_.  You have no power here, Abatu!  You've been cut off!” and with that, the teen took several lightening quick strides forward and fluidly drawing his longsword from it's scabbard, sending a flash of light shooting from the length of the blade and cutting through the air towards the demon.  Abatu brought his hand up, and made a gesture as if to bat away an annoying fly, but the light cut right into the flesh of his forearm and a spray of bright glowing turquoise liquid exploded form it like blood.

Abatu was thrown back slightly and it was easy to recognize the shock on his monstrous face.  He howled with shocked pain and anger and quickly began to storm forward, closing the distance between them quickly.

The teen continued to hold the sword in his right hand, but his left raised up and Draco watched in confusion as he began to make a series of strange gestures, as if he were writing in the air with the end of his finger.  It ended with the teen placing his palm up, aimed at the quickly approaching demon and yelling out loudly, _“HA!”_.  With the yell, a huge burst of magic exploded from his palm and seemed to impact Abatu with a tremendous force.

The demon was sent flying back, his wings splayed haphazardly, and Draco stared in gaping shock as he saw a huge circular hole in the center of the demon's chest.  It was oozing with the same glowing turquoise liquid that seemed to be it's lifeblood of some sort.  Draco glanced over and saw Blaise gaping just as dumbstruck as he was and then noticed the omniocular hanging loosely at his side.

 _“Blaise!  Record this!”_ he hissed in a whisper.  Blaise seemed too stunned to understand him for a moment, but seemed to catch on a second later.  Draco didn't wait to watch him get it set, because his attention was instantly drawn back to the battle.

Abatu growled in angry pain and pushed himself back up to his feet.  He made to raise his hand, as if he were calling to something, but then a startled and confused expression graced his face before it was replaced with understanding, and then pure unadulterated _rage_.

“What have you done, _boy!?_ ” he snarled, and the teen only smirked wider and more smugly. 

He didn't respond however, but instead took a balanced stance, holding the sword in front of him, pointing directly up to the sky and beginning to make another series of gestures with his left hand.  Draco's eyes widened as the sword blade began to glow brighter and brighter, and swirls of glowing magic seemed to emit from the teens body like gusts of wind, dancing from his flesh and sending the tails of his waistcoat flapping around him, restrained only by the belt and sword scabbard. 

He then lowered the sword and pointed it at Abatu, like you would hold a fencing sword.

_“Iâ waywffon!”_

Out of the tip of the sword, shot like an arrow from a bow, a spear of ice suddenly emerged and rocketed through the air, impaling Abatu through the chest.

 _“Eto!”_ the teen shouted and another spear shot from the sword and into the demon's chest, sending him stumbling and howling in shock and pain.

 _“Eto! Eto! Eto!”_ the teen continued, shooting each successive spear of ice until there were no more spaces left on the monster's chest to impale, and the beast staggered forward, barely managing to remain on his feet.  More of that glowing turquoise blood oozed from each wound, and the beast was panting heavily.

Abatu stood hunched over for several seconds panting before he began to laugh.  The teen took a guarded stance, observing cautiously as the demon stood further upright, reached up and began to pull the spears out, one by one, sending splatters of glowing blood across the grassy expanse around them all.

“You may have cut me off from my primary well of power, but do not mistake that for powerless,” Abatu heaved out between rough, wet-sounding breaths.  “ **Destruction and Despair, come to me!  I am Abatu!  Earthly body and Lord over of the Order of the Nine Deaths!  Answer my call!** ”  He bellowed while raising his right fist into the air and spreading his wings wide.

The sky turned dark and the air around him began to swirl and sizzle with sparks of power.  Draco shuddered as he felt the very air being sucked of all warmth and he almost wondered if Dementors were near by.

The warrior-teen's eyes had widened during the demon's calling and he sheathed his sword before Abatu had even finished.  Draco darted his panicked gaze over to him, trying to figure out what was going on between the two and watched as the teen brought his right hand, pulled into a fist, in front of him into the open palm of his left hand.  Draco gaped as he saw the teen close his eyes! 

 _“_ Ravines deep-green in forest's night; Dusty path old and worn; Powers of earth I call to thee –“ the earth around them began to shake and shudder, and Draco's eyes kept darting between the demon who seemed to be building up some sort of power source in his clenched fist over his head, and back at the teen who was still chanting, and _still_ standing there with his _eyes closed_.

“Powers of earth I call to thee; Caverns dark and crystals bright; Meadows filled with wildflowers; Maple willow bracken ash; Fern-shaded passion's bowers; Powers of earth I call to thee; Powers of earth I call to thee; Ancient ones of green and gold; Of dirt and root and bone; Encircle now this sacred space; With the strength of sacred stone!”

The shaking reached a fever pitch and the teen suddenly opened his eyes and they were _glowing_ green.  His pulled his fist away from his open palm and made a sudden raising gesture with the left hand.  The ground around Abatu cracked and shifted and the demon glanced around, looking panicked as he continued to hold his fist in the air building up whatever it was he was doing. 

Huge spires of rock suddenly shot out of the ground, all around him, creating a cage-like space.  But it was the spires that shot up _inside_ the circle that the demon was suddenly having to maneuver around to dodge.

“Impertinent mortal!” Abatu snarled but it was quickly cut off by a howl of pain as one of the spikes shot up and sliced into his side, causing another gaping wound to ooze glowing liquid turquoise.  Despite the new wound, Abatu managed to retain his position with fist in the air and Draco finally became aware of some sort of distortion of blackness forming around the fist and gradually growing.  “You will pay for your arrogance, boy!”

Vines began to sprout around the base of the stone spires, crawling their way up the sides and sprouting little leaves and sharp pointed thorns as they continued to grow further and further upwards.  Another spire shot up and pierced the demon's side, bringing out another angry snarl.  The black ball of anti-light around his hand was growing and pulsing.  Tendrils of darkness were dancing out of it and crawling down his arm much like the vines were crawling up the spires.  The vines on the spires that had speared him reached his side and he screamed as the green tendrils began to climb around his torso and into the wounds.  They dug into his flesh with their thorns and he began to frantically brush at them with his one free hand.

A snarl of annoyed impatience escaped him and he took that free hand and instead aimed his palm outwards towards the teen.

“ _Suffer!_ ” he bellowed and dark energy shot out of his hand at the teen at lightening speed. 

The teen gasped and just barely managed to dodge to one side as a bolt of blackness shot past his head.  Unfortunately, while he managed to dodge the first one, he did not dodge the second.  He screamed in pain as his shoulder was impaled by a black and purple bolt of darkness that seemed to lodge itself into his flesh and then spread out with random thorns, much like the thorns of the vine, only much larger.

The teen staggered and his hand went to his left shoulder and glowed with white light from his palm.

Abatu shot out another black bolt from his raised palm, and the teen rolled to one side, just in time to move out of the way.  Another bolt shot out, and then another and another.  One managed to impale the teen's left thigh but the others simply lodged themselves into the ground around him before dissipating into nothing.  The ones that did impale him were removed quickly enough by the glowing white energy from the teen's hand, but the wounds were apparently not so easy to get rid of because Draco could see the small patches of red on the fabric of is trousers and waistcoat, and the teen's breathing grew slightly more labored.

He clenched his teeth and growled through his pants for a moment while Abatu snarled in frustration.

“It won't be that easy to kill me, demon!” the teen yelled before reaching down to his waist and drawing his sword again. 

“I'm afraid, mortal, that you're simply out of time,” he snarled with a wide grin.  He laughed his loud angry laugh and used his free hand to smash several of the rock spires with one sweeping wave before bringing down his fist from the sky in a swirling motion and bringing a twisting funnel of black magic around him that tore away the remaining bits of his earthen cage before swirling outward towards the teen like flying scythes. 

The twirling blades of black-ish purple magic flew through the air in unpredictable and impossibly fast speeds that Draco was sure would be impossible to dodge, especially considering the teen was clearly already wounded.

The teen brought the sword up with his right hand while the left hand, injured shoulder and all, furiously drew shapes in the air.  What surprised Draco the most was that the sword's blade was somehow blocking the black curved slashes of magic upon impact.  Even more shocking was the speed with which the teen moved that large curved blade, in order to intercept each slashing blade of energy.

His movements were beyond human – so fast that they blurred together, one into the next, as his whole body moved and twisted and bent in flow with the blade, catching and intercepting each and every attack that the demon's swirling vortex of dark magic sent flying his way.  Draco's eyes widened as he began to see glowing letters of some sort lingering in the air as his left hand continued to draw them at incredible speeds, all the while his right hand and sword continued to parry each and every attack that came his way.

The drawn runes were lingering longer and longer as the barrage of attacks continued, until they seemed to be permanently rendered in the air, forming long strings of something that Draco couldn't read or make sense of, but could somehow _feel_ the power in them. 

Abatu gave out a frustrated roar and made a sharp cutting gesture with his long curved taloned fingers.  The twisting vortex of magical blades slowed it's movement, seeming to freeze mid-spin and remain stationary while the demon glared with dangerously glowing eyes down at the teen, who stood at the ready with his blade still in hand and other hand still furiously drawing runes mid-air.

 _“Why won't you die!”_ Abatu roared, and the teen simply smirked in response.

Draco gaped in shock at the scene that had gone from a maddening insanity of intensity, to a near dead silence except for the continued movements of the teen's left hand that was _still_ drawing mid-air.  He realized suddenly that the teen had not actually gotten past the barrage unscathed, and saw that there were slices across his cheeks and forehead along with obvious cuts along his arms and legs, staining his clothes red with blood.  And yet the teen still continued to grin quite smugly at the obviously angered demon.

“It's not my time, Abatu.  It's yours,” he said and then made one final, decisive motion with his hand, leaving one last rune in place before it began to glow even brighter than the rest.  The glowing spread through all of the rest like a flash of lightening, lighting the sky with a flash of green that just as suddenly shot forward, crashing through the motionless black vortex and into Abatu's chest.

The demon's eyes went wide with shock and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream.  The turquoise glow that etched the markings on his flesh and the oozing blood that still flowed from his wounds suddenly turned green and began to glow brighter and brighter still, overwhelming his entire body.  He threw his head back and an audible scream finally escaped from his parted lips.  It was a scream of anguish and horror and suffering.  A scream that would echo through the nightmares of those who bore it witness forever more.  It shook the ground and sent vibrations through the air.

Cracks suddenly began to materialize all across the demon's body and the screaming intensified even further.  With a rocketing shockwave that echoed far into the distance for miles around, Abatu suddenly shattered into a thousand bits of light before dissipating into nothing more than sparkling dust.

The teen stood there, panting heavily for several long, suddenly silent, minutes later before he shakily raised his longsword and returned it to it's sheath.  He took a shaky step forward, then another before falling to his knees and collapsing forward, face-first in the grass.

Draco remained frozen in place, stunned into motionlessness for several seconds longer.  He yelped and jumped in shock as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.  His head whipped around and found his mother looking down at him worriedly.  Draco's mouth floundered silently for several seconds and he just shook his head.  His gaze shifted over to his father as the tall, normally stoic man, took slow jerky steps forward towards the spot where the teen had fallen. 

Draco's mother left his side after apparently having made sure that he wasn't harmed.  She took much more hurried steps than her husband had at first, but her steps grew wary and hesitant as she drew up closer to the fallen teen.  She had her wand in hand and and walked around her husband who was now crouched down in the grass beside the teen waving his wand in slow graceful circles over the various wounds.

He paused and looked up at his wife as she approached.  “You would be better suited for this than I, my dear,” he said in a forced calm.  She nodded and took two last hurried steps before pulling up her robes and kneeling in the dirt and grass.  Her wand was quickly making motions over the teen instead while her husband stood back up and walked over to Draco and Blaise.  He asked them if they were alright.  Both teens nodded dumbly, still too stunned from what they had witnessed to say anything more than that. 

Lucius reached a hand out and wrapped it around the Omniocular that was still being clutched by Blaise in his hand and aimed at the spot where the demon had exploded minutes earlier.  A gentle motion lowered the omniocular while the other hand came along the side and turned the dial, turning it off before gently removing it from his grasp and stowing it in his robes.

“Lucius,” Narcissa called out, drawing her husband's attention back to her.

“Yes, dear?” he asked as he walked back over to her side.

“He needs to have his wounds attended to,” she said in a quiet, urgent voice.  “It's a wonder he hasn't already bled to death with these wounds.  There seems to be something keeping the wounds from bleeding as much as they should be.  I suspect that the armor or something he's wearing is enchanted, which means if I remove the wrong thing, every injury he's sustained could suddenly become individually life-threatening.”

She reached up with a piece of apparently conjured damp terry cloth and began whipping away some of the dirt and dried blood from his face.  A sudden gasp drew her husband's attention back down to the boy, and then his eyes widened in shock.

“Impossible,” he whispered in disbelief.

“Lucius... is that...?”

“He supposedly died nearly ten years ago,” Lucius said in a quiet voice as he shook his head.

“He _disappeared_ , darling.  There was never a body found!” she hissed insistently.

Lucius had never stopped shaking his head in disbelief, but the gesture was slower now and seemingly unconscious.  He knelt down slowly and reached out a shaking hand towards the teen's forehead where his wife's hand was holding the terry cloth over his fringe, holding them back and exposing the skin of his forehead.  A jagged lightening-bolt shaped scar was clearly visible there amongst the partially cleaned smears of blood.

“Harry... Potter,” Lucius whispered as his finger brushed across the skin.  He sucked in a sharp gasp and jerked back as a jolt of powerful magic jumped across in an arc of magic when his finger had touched the teen's forehead.  A tingle of power seemed to dance across the surface of his left forearm and he gaped at his clothed left arm with wide, stunned eyes. 

“Lucius?” Narcissa whispered in a worried, questioning tone.

“We must take him home with us,” he whispered, once again looking back at the unconscious teen.  “Can you tend to his wounds without any additional aid?  We cannot take him to St. Mungo's.”

“I... yes, I think so,” she said after a moment's hesitation.  “He will need potions that we may not have in our personal stores.”

“I will call Severus.”

“Darling... are you sure...?”

Lucius hesitated for a moment before sighing slightly and nodding his head.  “I will have to take the risk.  If you can give me a list of precisely which potions you need, I can request them, and attempt to avoid Severus discovering who they are intended for.”

Narcissa nodded and began waving her wand in motions over the teen, levitating him a few inches into the air before conjuring a full-body splint and magically restraining him to it.  “Will you be using the portkey?”

“Yes, I'll have to.  Can you apparate the boys back to the manor?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good.”

A moment later, Lucius Malfoy was crouched with one hand wrapped firmly around a portkey and the other wrapped over the teen's chest to the opposite side where it wrapped around the edge of the body splint.  He pressed the portkey to the teen's chest, quietly whispered the activation keyword before vanishing in a swirl of light.

“What – where did father go?” Draco said as he rushed over to his mother's side.

“He took the boy back to the manor.  I'll apparate the both of you home.  Blaise, perhaps it would be best if you went home.  I don't think that we'll be going to any Quidditch games tonight.”

Blaise nodded numbly.

“Come along boys,” she said then, reaching out and beckoning them both to her side.  A moment later, the three vanished in yet another swirl of color and a loud crack.

– –

Harry climbed his way to consciousness slowly.  His head was heavy and felt pressured and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls.  However as he became slowly more aware, he finally registered with some level of confusion that this was about the extent of his discomfort, when it really shouldn't have been.

He _should_ have been dead, in all honesty.  But baring that, he should have at least been in a great deal of pain.  But he wasn't.  He shifted slightly and noted how soft the bed he was laying on, was.  The linens were of obvious of a fine quality, and exceedingly soft.  His head was rested on a small mountain of pillows, and it smelled wonderful.  He could also feel gentle pulses of magic in the air, and in all honesty, that was the most surprising realization of them all.

He was supposed to be trapped in the world of Men now.  The last thing he'd expected was to find himself in a room filled with the background hum of magic.  That was something he associated with Avalon, and he could never go back there.

Finally Harry found the will power necessary to force open his heavy lids and look around.  The world was a blur of soft glows, most likely from candles, and foggy greens and golds from the walls and blurs of furniture. 

Harry groaned in annoyance and frustration as he brought his hands up to his face and pressed his palms over his eyes, focusing his magic.  He visualized his misshapen cornea changing shape until they formed the proper dome necessary to properly direct the light.  A small gasp escaped his lips as he felt the surge of magic shoot through his eyes for a moment, along with the sharp discomfort that came with it, before subsiding.  Of course he expected the sensation, and had experienced it many times before, but he could still never quite remain completely still when he performed this bit of magic.  He wished endlessly that he could just make the change permanent, but he supposed he should take what he could get. 

He heaved a small sigh and let his hands fall to the bed beside him before opening his eyes again and taking in the space around him.  The room was overly orderly and filled with frivolous ornamentation.  Dark wood paneling rose from the floor to about four feet up along each wall, and then another foot of ornamental woodwork trimmed the ceiling.  Vertical stripped wallpaper filled the space between the wood work in emerald green with gold trimming. 

The furniture and accents were all in the English Rococo style of the late 18th century, not that Harry knew that.  Mostly the styling looked exceedingly foreign.  It was nothing like the elven styling he was familiar with back in Avalon.  And it was nothing like the all-too-perfect and sterile decorating he still vaguely remembered from the Dursley's. 

Harry let his head loll from side to side, taking in his surroundings casually for several minutes before he let out another sigh and slowly pushed himself up and gingerly dropping his feet over the side of the bed, to the chilled hardwood floor.  His body was stiff and resisted any quick movement, but after a few moments of focusing the circulation of his magic, he felt his strength returning to him and he pressed forward with his exploration. 

There were sparks of subtly swaying magic everywhere.  It was far more concentrated in some of the objects decorating the shelves and tables.  Little ornamental knick knacks that were clearly enchanted with various purposes.  The blankets he had rest upon only moments before even danced with magic.  He ran his fingers over the surface as he looked back at the bed, letting his eyes decipher the inner workings of the spells that were woven into it's very threads.

“Warming... stain resistant... softness...” Harry muttered to himself before looking away from the bedding and to the table that rest against the wall across from the bed.  His eyes widened as he recognized his sword, in it's sheath, resting there. 

His eyes darted down to his waist where he realized he no longer had his belt or... well, _any_ thing, really.  He was wearing a very lightweight white robe of a sort.  He pulled the robe open and made his first legitimate effort to examine the results of the wounds he remembered getting in the battle.  He was impressed to find little more than faint white scars where the worst of them had landed, and flawless skin where the lighter attacks had gotten through his defenses. 

Whoever had healed him had done a very good job of it.

He walked over and ran his hand over the sword and it's scabbard.  He wondered at what point it had been removed from him and whether or not the healers had panicked at the sudden bleeding that no doubt accompanied it's removal. 

The sound of faint footsteps echoing across hard flooring, and the faint tingle of a foreign source of magic caught Harry's attention and he turned slowly to watch the one door the room had.  The shining metal door handle turned slowly and Harry _saw_ as much as he _felt_ the release of magic that had held the door sealed and locked.  The door pushed open and in stepped a man with long blond hair and aristocratic features.

Harry stood straighter, chin held high and face a calm mask, and clasped his hands behind his back.

“You're awake,” the man stated calmly.

“I am,” Harry said.  He took a moment to observe the man standing before him.  He was human, and yet he had magic, like Harry did.  No matter how many times Thinten had told him they existed, some part of him had never truly believed it.  He supposed he owed her an apology – or rather, he would, were he ever to see her again.  Which he wouldn't.  “You healed me?” Harry asked simply.

The man hesitated for a moment before slightly inclining his head and taking a few casual steps forward into the room and closing the door behind him.  “My wife did, mostly.  Were it not beneath her to take such a position, she could easily be a Master Healer.”

Harry nodded.  “Then I am indebted to her, and you as well.”

Harry watched closely as the man's eyes widened the slightest bit and seemed to gleam with _something_.  Harry would almost suspect it was _relief_.  “May I ask your name, sir?”

“I am Lucius Malfoy,” the man said coming to a stop only a step's width away from Harry.  “And you... are Harry Potter.”

This time it was Harry's composure that slipped slightly – rather more than Mr. Malfoy's had a moment before though.  His lips actually parted with the surprise he felt in hearing that name again after all these years.

Harry closed his mouth and frowned, his brow furrowing.  “Did you use some sort of magic to divine my name?”

The corner of Mr. Malfoy's mouth turned up ever so slightly and his hand extended outward, slowly reaching for Harry's forehead.  Harry fought the urge to flinch away and just barely managed to remain motionless as the man brushed his fringe aside to run fingertip against the scar that had marred Harry's forehead for as long as he could remember.

“I did not need a spell to tell me who you are, Mr. Potter,” Malfoy said in a quiet hush of a voice.  “Your scar is... _legendary_ , as is your story and your name.”

“My story?” Harry asked, openly frowning now.  “I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you've got me at a disadvantage.  I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Malfoy eyed him speculatively for a long moment, bringing his hand back down to his side and taking a step back to give Harry some more breathing room.  “You really don't know, do you?” he whispered.  Mr. Malfoy spun on his heel quite suddenly and took several quick strides across the room to a pair of wingback chairs that sat on either side of a small round tea table.  “Please, Mr. Potter – join me for tea?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, but Mr. Malfoy was already seated and he _did_ owe the man.  Not to mention his own curiosity was too intense for him to dare be rude to the man currently holding all the cards.  Harry walked forward and took the available seat, maintaining as calm an outward composure as he could manage – which was rather considerable, all things considered.

“Dobby,” Mr. Malfoy called out and Harry jumped as the space on the floor beside him suddenly compressed, expanded, and _popped_ with intense magic, all in the span of a split second, then leaving a small, wrinkled and rather awful looking little creature standing in the spot.

“Great Morgan of Avalon, what is _that!?_ ” Harry yelped, pushing himself back in his seat.

Mr. Malfoy arched his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth turned up in far more apparent amusement this time.  “That is a house elf.  I take it, this is the first time you've ever encountered one before?”

“A _house_ elf?” Harry said, turning his head to look at Mr. Malfoy and then back at the supposed 'elf'.  The elf in question was rather cowering on the floor, wringing his hands worriedly and shooting frightened glances from Harry to his master and back again.

“Bring us tea, Dobby,” Mr. Malfoy said blandly, waving his hand in a rather dismissive motion at the elf.

“Y-yes Master,” Dobby said, bowing so low his oversized floppy ears hit the floor before he popped away again.  Harry jumped again, although not quite as high this time as the strange compression and expansion of space was slightly less of a surprise this time.

Harry gaped openly at the space the house elf had disappeared from for a moment before he recovered his composure.  “He's some sort of servant?” Harry asked, turning his questioning gaze on Mr. Malfoy.

“He is bonded to me,” Mr. Malfoy replied simply.

Harry nodded slowly and tried to resettle himself in his seat.

“Where have you _been_ , Mr. Potter?” Malfoy asked rather suddenly and intensely.

“Been?”

“You disappeared at the age of five.  You have been believed dead.”

“How do you know when I disappeared?”

“It's common knowledge.”

Harry blinked at him.  “Common knowledge?” Harry asked incredulously. 

“As I said, Mr. Potter; your story is legendary.  Your disappearance is just as famous as your rather shocking beginnings.”

“And what beginnings are those?” Harry asked, eyeing the man through narrowed eyes.

Mr. Malfoy sat back in his seat and appeared to ponder for a moment.  He was about to open his mouth when Harry felt the imminent compaction and expansion of space and turned his gaze back to the earlier spot.  Dobby, once again appeared, but this time Harry did not jump.  The elf was hovering a tea tray, complete with tea pot, creamer, cups, and biscuits.  Mr. Malfoy paused and they waited a moment while the tea was served before the house elf once again vanished with a pop.

Harry had to restrain a huff of frustrated impatience as Mr. Malfoy then set to fixing himself a cup of tea.  When Mr. Malfoy offered to fix Harry a cup, Harry waved his hand over one of the cups and it filled, from the bottom up from no apparent source at all, with tea, just the right bit of cream, and a lump of sugar.  Mr. Malfoy's brows raised with interest before he gave Harry a small nod.  He sat back in his chair, took a sip of his tea and then focused on Harry.

“During the winter before you were born, a prophecy was made.”

Harry's eyes closed momentarily and he had to exert a considerable amount of will power not to laugh... or cry.  He wasn't sure which, really.  He opened his eyes back up, maintaining a perfectly calm expression, despite his tumultuous emotions inside.

“I do not know the contents of this prophecy, however I do know that something in it lead the Dark Lord to believe you were a threat.”

Harry's brow furrowed.  “Dark Lord?”

Mr. Malfoy flinched, minutely, but still visibly, and Harry cataloged it along with the rest of his observations about the man.

Mr. Malfoy composed himself and nodded.  “He is the most powerful wizard of our time.  At the time the prophecy was made, he was leading a... a _revolution._ There was a war in wizarding Britain at the time, between the Magical Ministry and the Dark Lord's forces.  When the prophecy was made, it was partially overheard by one of the Dark Lord's servants, and what was heard was delivered to the Dark Lord.

“After you were born, your parents went into hiding.  You were fifteen months old when your family's location was finally revealed to the Dark Lord and he _personally_ went to your parents home, killed your father, then your mother, and then... _attempted_ , to kill you.”

Harry's eyes widened and his lips parted. 

“He shot a killing curse at you... do you know what that is?”

Harry slowly shook his head.  “Not specifically,” he said in a quite whisper.

“It is one of three curses we consider 'unforgivable'.  To use one, is a one-way ticket to Azkaban, the wizarding prison used by the British Isles.  The killing curse is deemed unforgivable because it cannot be blocked or countered, and it _never_ fails.  If the witch or wizard can successfully cast the spell upon a living thing, that thing will cease to be living.  There are no exceptions... except for you.  He cast the spell upon you, but you did not die.  For some reason, the spell struck you but instead shot back and the splash damage was great enough that it destroyed his body and cast his spirit into the unknown.

“You were hailed as the... _savior_ of our world.  You _vanquished_ the Dark Lord at the tender age of fifteen months.  That, is why your story is legendary.  That is why everyone knows your name, and why everyone knows your... _scar.”_

Harry felt as if time had slowed down as he processed what the man sitting in front of him had told him.  It was a bit much to take in.  He closed his mouth, and frowned in deep thought.  “A boy who had been killed, but did not die,” Harry whispered.

“I'm sorry?” Mr. Malfoy asked in confusion.

“It's what the Soothsayers said the Nine had to search for... nothing.  It doesn't matter anymore.  Another prophecy, I suppose.  But one that's been fulfilled.  I suppose it answers some questions I've had for a very long time, though.  Tell me, Mr. Malfoy – do your legends tell of what happened to me _after_ I somehow miraculously defeated your Dark Lord?”

“No one knew at the time.  You were whisked away to an unknown locations.  The Dark Lord was defeated but his forces were still out there and it was feared that they would target you for revenge.  You were, supposedly, taken somewhere safe.  However, at some point between the ages of five and six, you apparently vanished.  There was, extensive searches conducted once it was discovered that you had turned up missing, however by that time, you had apparently been missing for quite some time.  The people who supposedly had you did not inform anyone from _our_ world of your absence in a timely fashion, it would seem.”

Harry snorted bitterly, not the least bit surprised that the Dursley's wouldn't have bothered to tell anyone that he'd vanished.

“It was believed that you were dead,” Malfoy said with some finality a moment later.

Harry nodded slowly.  “They didn't have magic,” he said softly.  “But... I think they knew I did.  The word was _taboo_ in their home, and they blamed me for everything that ever went wrong.  There were the so-called 'freakish' accidents that happened that probably really _were_ my fault, not that I knew that or understood it at the time, but then there was everything else that they blamed me for too that I never could have been responsible for.   They told me my parents died in a drunk driving accident and that's where I got my scar.”

Mr. Malfoy sneered quite deeply and the look of disgust on his face was plain for any and all to see.  “Filthy muggles,” he spat.

Harry cocked a single eyebrow.  “Muggle?”

“Non-magicals.”

“Oh... you know, for the longest time, I've wondered if there even _were_ humans with magic in this world.  Up until I was nearly six, I only ever remember non-magical people.  Muggles, I suppose.  Suburbia, cars, the telly.  ' _There's no such thing as magic'_ , I was told.”

A look of legitimate curiosity entered Mr. Malfoy's eyes and he actually leaned forward in his seat.  “Where have you been, then?  You obviously learned of magic from somewhere.”

Harry sat back and a very small smile spread across his lips.  “I've been in Avalon.”

“Avalon,” Mr. Malfoy echoed blankly.

“During the summer, just before I turned six, three of the Nine Ladies of Avalon came through a portal in search of someone to fulfill a... _prophecy_ of their own.  They had a powerful scrying stone and used it to identify that I was the one they were searching for.  They took me back to Avalon with them.  Little did I realize there was a bit of a rift among the Nine as to what purpose exactly I was to serve in their needs, but in the end, those in favor of letting me survive and attempt to fight their foe, won over those who wanted to simply spill my blood over a sacrificial alter in hopes of resealing him for another millennium.  Long story short, they trained me, and I eventually fulfilled what they needed of me.  Doing so, resulted in my ending up back here in the world of Mortal Men.  The method I used to get here, however, cannot be done in reverse, so I am now stuck here with no way to return.”

Harry paused, debating his next words, but he knew they were truth, and he would not deny them, no matter how little he knew about this man or the circumstances he now found himself in.  “I am... deeply indebted to you.  I expected to die in the battle, but even if I had survived it, I would be lost in this world without your present aid.  Despite what you say about my... legend or fame or whatever... as far as I know, I have nothing here.  I have no wealth, and I know nothing about this world or how it works.  I have no shelter to turn to, and as such, I am at your mercy.  With as much as you have already done for me, I hate to ask for more, but I find myself with little other choice but to beg your aid further.  Is there anything I can do to repay what you have done for me so far, and in compensation for continued shelter until I can gain my bearings better?”

A gleam entered Malfoy's eye that Harry feared did not bode well for him, however he knew he would not back down from whatever the man might request of him.

“As a matter of fact... there _is_.  Things are very... complicated.  You see, the Dark Lord that the world believed defeated back when you were little more than a toddler, was not gone forever.  The man had traveled further down the path of immortality than any other wizard alive, and had taken certain... _precautions_ , to guarantee that he could not die.  I do not know for certain what they might all be, but I do have suspicions about one possibility.  In any case, at least one of the experiments he partook in clearly worked because he has returned.”

Harry's brow raised slightly and he shifted in his seat, keeping the proud blond man the center of his focus.

“As I said... things are very _complicated._ I... willingly served the Dark Lord in the past.  I joined his service before even leaving school.  I was young and ignorant of the full potential repercussions of my choice.  In my defense, at the time the Dark Lord's offer was quite seductive.  He offered power and influence, but more importantly, he offered an alternative to the miserable status quo.  The world of Ministry politics was bleak and defeating.  It is an endless loop of ignorant men, weak of mind and of magic, running in circles and getting nothing of any value accomplished.  The system is so muddled with worthless legislature and idiotic ideas that it's only apparent purpose anymore is to infuriate those who which to initiate any worthwhile progress.  The only way to get anything accomplished in the present political climate is with backdoor politics and bribery, and while I have become quite adept at such tactics in my more aged years, it was not something that appealed at all to my younger, more idealistic self, who saw the Dark Lord's revolution as an opportunity to topple down an old, rotting regime, in order to replace it with something fresh and powerful.”

“I take it that something went wrong with all this?” Harry asked, rhetorically.

Malfoy made a bitter sort of scoffing sound.  “The Dark Lord himself, really.  He was quite charismatic when I was still young.  A genius in every sense.  Strategies, politics, and magic.  However something went... _wrong_ with him.  I have no idea what specifically it was that finally caused him to snap, but he eventually began to loose his grasp on reality.  He became consumed by his fury and it became a madness in him.  He was more violent than ever, and lost sight of the bigger picture.  The true _goals_ were lost behind the rhetoric and the fear mongering, and I think he slowly began to believe in his own lies.  I will admit now to having been _relieved_ when he was defeated, that Halloween night in nineteen eighty-one.  But part of me feared that it was not truly over, and I was right.

“He returned just a few months ago.  Those of us who were in his service during the last war were _marked_ by him.  The mark allows him to summon us whenever he desires it, and once he had restored his body, he immediately called us to him.  I returned, of course, because I am not a fool, and do not wish to die.  If I thought he was going mad before, it was nothing compared to his current insanity.  There is little to nothing left that resembles the man I once admired.  But if I were to dare to defy him now, he would kill me without a moment's hesitation.  What I truly fear, however, is that he _needs_ me.  He needs the power and influence I hold, and as such, if I dared to defy him, it is far more likely that he would hold my _family_ against me.  I cannot – _will not_ – risk them.  They are... they are my world.  My wife and my son are everything to me.  There are many in the magical world who think me nothing more than a cold hearted bastard, but even for a Malfoy, family always comes first.  What I ask of you, Mr. Potter – in repayment for saving your life – is that you protect my family.”

Harry blinked and a silent moment passed where he almost expected some form of elaboration that he then realized was not forthcoming.

“You wish for me to protect your family?” Harry echoed slowly.

“Yes.  I witnessed your battle against that beat.  He was a demon, wasn't he?”

Harry nodded slowly.

“And not just any demon.  That was a Demon _Lord_ ,” Malfoy said in a hush.  “If there is anyone in this world who I could honestly believe was capable of defeating the Dark Lord... it's _you_.  It has already been foretold that you'll be the one to do it, and while some believe that perhaps your role in the whole thing was already said and done with when you _temporarily_ defeated him at fifteen months old, the fact that you have reappeared here, _now_ , of all times, leads me to believe otherwise.”

“So...” Harry began slowly, sitting up a bit straighter, “what you're saying is that you aren't going to ask me to defeat this Dark Lord of yours because you figure I'm probably going to do it anyway; what you ask is that I protect your family while I'm doing it?”

“Basically, yes,” Mr. Malfoy said with a simple curt nod.

Harry heaved a sigh and let himself sink back in his chair some while he let his mind mull over this.  It really was quite a lot to take in so suddenly.  Here he was, thinking that he might have finally finished with all the ridiculous fate stuff, but low and behold, it would seem that he was destined to be fate's bitch forever.

Fighting against fate was something he had already learned the hard way, to be a rather futile endeavor.  In the end, you only made things harder on yourself. 

Harry heaved a sigh and refocused on Mr. Malfoy.  “You realize, of course, that it is not as simple as me just going up to this Dark Lord of yours and challenging him to a duel, right?  You say he took steps to guarantee his immortality – I would have to discover what those were first and foremost, and deal with them appropriately.  I prepared for _years_ for my battle with Abatu.  I made plans and tested out ideas until I was sure I had the perfect strategy.  I can only imagine how simple and straightforward the battle might have appeared from an outsider perspective, but I guarantee you, Mr. Malfoy, that it was _years_ of planning that lead to me having such a smooth and rather flawless victory – and despite all that, I still went forward fully expecting that I would likely succumb to my wounds and die.”

“Of course you are right, Mr. Potter.  I am no fool, and I do not expect you to be a magical panacea to my present woes.  I also know that I cannot risk to continue putting you up in my home and spend the time that is no doubt necessary to prepare you for the task you must undertake.  I must maintain my guise as a loyal servant of the Dark Lord if I am to protect my family, and your extended presence here would greatly jeopardize that.”

“What are you suggesting, then?” Harry asked, eyeing the man cautiously.

“There is a man – a very powerful wizard – who lead something of a resistance movement of his own during the last war.  I will honestly admit to quite thoroughly despising the man, and he has been a constant thorn in my side for the better part of the last two decades, however, I will not deny the man's power, both magically and politically.  He is also the headmaster of Britain's premier wizarding institution of learning.  His name is Albus Dumbledore.  The organization he founded during the last war was known as the Order of the Phoenix.  The Order is undoubtedly already reassembling, as I would be greatly surprised if Dumbledore had not somehow already caught wind of the Dark Lord's resurrection.  I intend to send you to Dumbledore.  He will protect you and will be able to supply you with the information you need to prepare you for facing the Dark Lord.”

“And you need me to keep your involvement in all of this a secret?” Harry asked almost rhetorically.

“Yes.  The Dark Lord once had ears within the Order's walls, and I would not be surprised if he manages to gain such an advantage again.  I cannot risk that _anyone_ learn that I had anything to do with your discovery, and most certainly not that I had anything to do with you being healed or handed over to Dumbledore.  It would be an instant death sentence for myself and my family.  I have already had to take steps to assure the silence of one of my son's friends who was also present to witness your battle.  I would prefer to keep the number of unknown risks and potential information leaks to a minimum.”

Harry nodded.  “Understood.”

“I cannot give you too much information, but there are a few key things that I need to tell you before you leave this place.”

Harry watched expectantly as Mr. Malfoy reached into the inner breast pocket of his robes and pulled out a small black book and set it down on the tea table between them.

“I told you that I had my suspicions about possible routes the Dark Lord may have taken in his quest for immortality,” Malfoy said and Harry nodded.  “I'm guessing the answer to my question will be no, but I'll ask it anyway.  Have you ever heard the word 'Horcrux'?”

Harry blinked, furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“I didn't expect so.  A horcrux is one of the darkest and most forbidden of magics.  Even those in the seediest of circles would hardly dare to even whisper of such things.  A horcrux is a vessel for a piece of one's soul.  The wizard must commit murder in cold blood and use the act to break off a sliver of their soul which they can then –“

“A worldly soul-tether,” Harry said with sudden dawning recognition.  “An object to bind the spirit to the land of the living, should their physical vessel fail them.  Yes, I'm familiar with such a concept.  You believe this is what your Dark Lord did, then?”

Lucius Malfoy faltered for a second, giving the young teen opposite him a scrutinizing look before blinking the expression away.  “I suspect that he made more than one, actually.  This book... I think is one of them.  He left it in my safe keeping during the first war, a few years before his temporary defeat.  I believe that I gave another to my wife's sister, but I have no idea what she might of done with it, and she is currently locked away in Azkaban Prison.”

“More than one...” Harry said in a quiet thoughtful voice.  “If he dared attempt to breach the barrier of four splits, it would explain his sudden crash in sanity.”

“Elaborate,” Mr. Malfoy said firmly.

“Well, I cannot guarantee that whatever techniques you all use to perform this magic is the same as the one I've read about, but this technique was detailed in one of the tomes I studied, along with it's many flaws.  The biggest problem with the worldly anchors is that each time you do it, you are splitting your remaining soul in half.  You are not simply breaking off some tiny shard, and some one believed, but sacrificing _half_ of your mortal soul to be restrained in a cold and unliving object.  What's more is that the soul, in a body, cannot survive with missing pieces, so something else must replace that which is removed.  The magic used in the ritual fills the gaps, and more often then not, this is very dark and tainted magic. 

“After creating a single anchor, you have half of your soul, and half tainted nether magic.  The second anchor you create breaks that half of your remaining soul in half again, leaving you with 25% real soul, and 75% taint and darkness.  Create another and you have just over 12% humanity left, while 87% of you is little more that a swirling miasma of dark, chaotic magic.  Anyone who dares create a fourth is destined to lose their mind, as they simply no longer retain enough humanity to empathize with anyone else at all.  Four is the number of Death for a reason, Mr. Malfoy, and in this case, any who dare go beyond it are certainly killing off any chance at sanity, if nothing else.  And you would have to be insane to attempt to go any further than that.”

“I've never read any texts that say the creation of a horcrux _splits_ the soul in half in this way,” Malfoy whispered, looking deeply thoughtful.  “Granted, I've only ever round three texts that even _mention_ horcruxes, and two of those do so only to the extent of warning against doing it.  The third gives some detail on the procedure to take, but little more.  It is a taboo magic, even among those of us who have practiced the darker arts for generations.”

“As it should be,” Harry said with a disgusted grimace.  He glanced down at the black book that was still resting on the table and hesitantly brought his hand out to hover over top of it. 

Even with having only _glanced_ at the thing before, he could already tell it was a swirling mass of awful corruption.  It was more than a simple soul anchor – of that he was sure.  This Dark Lord had probably thought himself quite clever in it's creation.  Taking a forbidden bit of magic and customizing it to suit whatever whim he had for this particular object.

Harry felt a tingle of magic arc through the air between the innocuous little book and the tip of his finger as it hovered an inch above it's surface.  The tingle shot through his entire being and settled itself like an itch in his scar.

Harry's hand stilled mid-air and he felt his heart rate increase several fold.  Outwardly he remained ever-calm and cool, but internally he felt a storm of emotions rolling around.

 

There was a reason, after all, that he was familiar with soul anchors.  But that was not something he felt inclined to share with Mr. Malfoy at this time.

“I believe your right,” Harry said in a slightly hoarse voice a few minutes later.  He cleared his throat and after taking a small breath to stay his nerves, he picked the book up and looked at it.  “This is a soul anchor.  I would guess it was probably his first one, in fact.”

“Oh?” Malfoy asked, his curiosity showing through.

“The piece of soul in it is quite large.  It also quite young.  I would suspect he was little older than I am now when this was made.”

“How could you possibly tell that?” Mr. Malfoy asked incredulously.

“I see magic,” Harry said simply and looked up at the blond man with blank confusion.  “Are you saying that you can't?”

“ _See_ magic?” Malfoy echoed in a shocked whisper.

Harry nodded and let his eyes travel around the room.  “I see it in everything.  It's even in the wallpaper, and on the curtains where you've magicked them not to fade or collect dust.  There's magic in the baseboards where you've put in spells against rodents and pests.  The very air in this room has gentle currents of magic where you've put in magick in the room to keep the air smelling fresh.  I see it as swirls of colors and light.  Information is laced within the very texture and the frequencies and vibrations.  I can expose the spells make-up if I want, and in some cases, I can even re-write it.  It's not that hard if you put in the time for study and practice.”

“I've never even heard of someone with such a talent,” Mr. Malfoy said, still seeming rather baffled.

“Hm... well, it's not a rare trait among the fae of Avalon,” Harry said with a dismissive shrug. 

“Then I am grateful they taught it to you,” the man said after a long moment of silence.  He continued to scrutinize Harry for a few long beats after that before speaking again.  “I hope you will know how to put that book to good use?”

 

Harry looked back down at the black book and nodded slowly. “I have a few ideas... for now I'll keep it somewhere safe.  It may come in handy to locate the others.”

“Oh?”

Harry simply shook his head, signaling that he didn't intend to elaborate.

Mr. Malfoy seemed to accept this because he changed the subject.  “There are other things that I need to tell you before you go, but I cannot risk you remaining here much longer.  We much press onwards.  Is there anything that you would like me to get you before I begin?”

“No, I'm fine.  Let's just do this.”

“Very well,” Lucius Malfoy said with a firm nod before he leaned in closer and began to explain what he could about the 'Death Eaters', who it's members were, some general overview of their tasks and skills, what sort of plans had already been set in motion since the Dark Lord's return, that Mr. Malfoy was aware of, and then he moved on to a more political debriefing and warning. 

Harry asked questions trying to make sense of what he was being told, but it didn't take too long for things to get a bit muddled.  Still, he was hardly a stranger to political intrigue and felt like he was doing reasonably well at keeping the key figures straight in his head.

He learned that there was a Magical World that existed, hidden just beneath the surface, of the muggle one he recalled from his early youth.  It had a government and laws and everything, and the whole thing was kept secret from the 'muggles' through use of complex and powerful spells.  The Magical Ministry was headed up by a Minster of Magic, a man named Cornelius Fudge, who was an especially weak wizard, who got where he was by being politically smart, and riding the coat tails of a predecessor who retired during a time when Fudge's only opposition was embroiled in a rather awful personal scandal involving his son torturing a pair of 'aurors' into insanity.

Fudge himself was a man who was unable to creatively think for himself, and often relied heavily on the input of his advisors.  Mr. Malfoy was one of those advisors and it had gotten him a lot of power and influence over the years.  Influence that the Dark Lord intended to take full advantage of.

Mr. Malfoy also told him as much detail as he had on 'Albus Dumbledore' and his Order of the Phoenix – although he knew considerably less about that than the others.

In the end the crash course had taken the majority of the day, and Harry knew the other man didn't think it was nearly enough, but would have to do.  The house elf, Dobby, had delivered an actual meal during the course of their talks and Mr. Malfoy had 'transfigured' the tea table into a larger table during that time, which had been interesting for Harry to watch.  He had been especially intrigued by Mr. Malfoy's apparent reliance on his 'wand', and had found the feel of it in his had to be quite fascinating when the older man had allowed him to try holding it.

In the end, they had to bring their discussion to an early end and hope it would be sufficient. 

“It is likely that Dumbledore will be keeping you at Hogwarts,” Mr. Malfoy was saying as the sun began to set over the horizon outside the wide bay windows.  “If you are still there when the school year begins, I would like to ask that you take steps to safe guard my son.”

Harry looked up at the stoic man and saw a glimmer of real, honest, worry in the man's eyes, and so he nodded solemnly. 

“As long as my son is within Hogwarts he is safe to some degree.  I intend to give my wife instruction that, should it ever become apparent that the Dark Lord doubts my loyalties, that she go to Dumbledore to seek asylum for her self and our son.  Should this ever come to pass, you will be all that is left to truly protect them.  I do not trust Dumbledore or any of his men to go to any great lengths to guarantee the safety of my family.  This is my one request of you, in exchange for having saved your life.  Are we in accord?”

“We have an accord,” Harry replied with a firm nod.

“Good.... thank you.”

It wasn't much longer after that, that Harry found himself behind handed a small magical device that he was told was known as a 'port-key' – a magical invention used to travel to a designated place a great distance away in a matter of seconds.  Mr. Malfoy informed him that the port-key would deposit him just beyond the gates of Hogwarts and he would be on his own from there.

Despite being warned, Harry was not prepared for the experience of being 'port-keyed' somewhere.  It was an entirely violent bit of magic that left him disoriented and bring of being very very sick.  He stumbled to the ground as soon as he reappeared and had to remain there for several moments until his head had stopped spinning enough that he no longer feared he'd lose his lunch the moment he tried to move.  He was once again returned to his tunic, waistcoat, battle leathers, belt and his sword and scabbard, and he imagined he looked quite ridiculous splayed out like he was, but honestly couldn't bring himself to care.

Finally Harry pulled in one last calming breath and pushed himself to his feet.  He took in his surroundings – behind him was a long winding dirt road; on either side of him was a rather dense and foreboding looking forest that was _teaming_ with magic he felt calling out to his every sense and putting a small smile on his lips, and before him was a tall and imposing looking wrought iron fence and gate.  He took the steps forward necessary to meet the gate and felt the barrier of magic he could see, pressing against him.

He was an unfamiliar force, and it was summer.  The school was closed and no one, not already on some sort of magical 'ok' list, was permitted inside.  He could tell this from just _looking_ at the network of patchwork wards that guarded the old gate.

Harry looked back down the road behind him before looking through the gate down a winding path that led to a castle in the far distance.  He wondered how long he would end up sitting there if he just waited for someone to notice he was there.

He decided to give it a half hour.  If no one showed up, he'd take action to gain their attention.

 

–

Not the least bit to his surprise, Harry found himself still sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back resting against the gate some thirty minutes later.  There had been no change in anything and he finally felt like he was bored and impatient enough to take matters into his own hands.  Harry stood up, pressed his flat open palm against the wards and brought forth a complex glowing array of runic symbols.

He smiled in relief as he found that they were mostly written in elder futhark.  Some of the symbols were slightly different, and there were a few that appeared outright changed, but he still managed to make sense of them.  He reached out to the exposed bit of glowing magic and used his hand to flip through them as if he were flipping through a book, skimming the magic's structure as he went.  He came to a stop at something he thought he could work with and extended his right index-finger and began writing out glowing symbols of his own in mid-air, overwriting and altering the ones that were already there.

Every few symbols he wrote, he would splay his left palm and send out a pulse of magic, locking in the changes and sending a jolt of power through the wards.  Less than five minutes later Harry let the glowing magical structure fade away and he stepped forward, walking right through the seemingly solid wrought iron gates as if they were nothing more than smoke and dust.

Harry let a small grin of accomplishment spread across his lips as he began to purposefully stride down the long winding path towards the castle.  Tyronoe would have been proud of the speed with which he'd worked his way through those wards.  Of course Mazoe would have told him he was still too slow and his techniques was still too clumsy.  But Mazoe could never be pleased, so what did it matter?

What did it matter...

It wasn't like he'd ever see any of them again, after all.

Harry huffed at the pointlessly depressing thought and quickly pushed it form his mind.  He'd said his goodbyes.  He'd known that he'd be leaving them for many years now and had made his peace with it.  This was just a new chapter in his life – one that he hadn't been guaranteed to have at all, just a few days prior.  He should be grateful he was alive at all.

It was getting quite dark now and he could see the soft glows of candle and torchlight coming from the castle windows in the distance.  A light that hadn't been there before appeared rather suddenly, and it was obviously moving along with some urgency.  Harry came to a stop and decided to simply wait for the person he could sense, more than see, coming towards him.  The individual in question finally drew close enough that Harry could see the person's face illuminated by the glowing light she was carrying – which he then realized was actually a glowing light at the tip of her wand and not a handheld lantern as he might have initially assumed.

It was a woman wearing tartan patterned robes, and with her graying hair tied into a tight bun on the top of her head.  She was frowning quite deeply at him as she hurried towards him with urgent wariness.

“Who are you?” she asked in a demanding tone.  “How did you get past the gate without an escort?”

Harry smiled slightly, trying to refrain from overtly smirking.  “I unlocked it,” he said simply with a shrug.  “I'm here to see Albus Dumbledore.”

She came to a stop a few feet from him, frowning quite sternly through tightly pursed lips as she scrutinized him from head to toe.

“Who are you?” she asked again, more sharply this time.

“I'd rather discuss that with Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said cooly. 

“I don't recognize you... you're not a student here, but you can't be more than fifteen,” she said, still eyeing him suspiciously.

“Technically I'm fourteen, but I turn fifteen in about a month,” Harry said with a mildly cheeky grin.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips actually _thinned,_ which he found surprising because he hadn't thought that was possible. 

“What do you need with the headmaster at this hour?  Where are your parents?”

“What I want with the headmaster is between he and I.  And my parents are long dead and have nothing to do with this conversation.”

Her eyes _widened_ this time and she opened her mouth, clearly intent to pose an argument or possibly another question, however it was cut off when Harry's attention was suddenly drawn to another figure coming down the road behind her.  Having noticed his shift in gaze, she turned and frowned before huffing out a sigh.

“It would appear the Headmaster is on his way,” she said cooly, looking back at him suspiciously.

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the approaching figure rather than bothering to look back at the woman. 

Harry could now make the determination that magical humans had a lot of potential for varying degrees of magical power.  He would have to observe more of these human 'witches' and 'wizards' to come up with a better scale for comparison, but even with only having seen three so far, he could easily tell that not all magical humans were made equal.  The man approaching him at the moment, for example, was monumentally more powerful than the woman standing beside him.

Lucius Malfoy, he suspected, fell somewhere _slightly_ below the woman, although their magical flavors were drastically different, so he suspected they specialized in vastly different fields.

“Good evening, Minerva.  Who might we have here?” the aged wizard spoke genially as he finally came even with Harry and the woman.

“He won't say his name, Albus.  He just keep insisting he speak with you,” she said, turning a mild glare on Harry.  “And he somehow got through the gate without an escort.  He _claims_ to have 'unlocked' them, whatever that's supposed to mean.”

“Is that so?” Dumbledore asked airily and with a hint of quiet amusement and curiosity.  He turned his full attention on Harry and raised his own wand, increasing the glow of illumination around the area.  The old wizard's eyes seemed to scrutinize Harry's face for several beats before a small frown marred his features. 

Harry let the corner of his mouth curl up slightly before twitching his finger and causing a small gust of air to blow past him, brushing aside his fringe just enough to expose the scar that Lucius Malfoy insisted was such a well-known feature.

The old man's eyes widened and his lips parted.  A moment later he closed them and blinked once, seeming to instantly compose himself.  “You wished to speak with me?” he said instead.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said sweeping down into a small bow before standing up to once again face the man.  “I'm afraid I come to you with nothing of tangible value to offer, but a request for aid on my tongue.  I have no where to go and was told by the only individual I've encountered since coming to this world, that you would be the one person most likely to lend me aid.”

Dumbledore's bushy white eyebrows raised into his forehead.  “To this _world?_ Are you suggesting that you've been in _another_ world up until now?”

“Since just before I turned six, yes.  I was taken to the isle of Avalon and raised by the nine enchantresses who govern over the races of fae who live there.  They had a task that only I was suited for, and now that I have completed that task, I have returned to my world.  But, as I said, I have nothing to my name now, and no where to go.”

Dumbledore blinked twice, but otherwise managed to remain mostly composed.  “And what name might that be?” he whispered, and Harry could see the disbelief warring with the hope in the man's sparkling blue eyes.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, giving a small sweeping bow, “I am at the mercy of your generosity, aged wizard of Men.”

The witch gasped and her hand flew up to her lips.

“Harry... Potter...” Dumbledore whispered.  “Avalon, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove any of that which you claim?”

Harry frowned.  “I've never been asked to _prove_ who I am before.  The Ladies found me through use of a scrying stone, and once I was in Avalon – being the only mortal in all of the lands – there was no question as to my identity.”  Harry paused in thought for a moment before his brows raised with an idea.  “I have my sword.  I am not sure if it would be considered suitable proof, but it is all I have that possibly could.”

“Your sword?” the witch asked, looking dubious, but still also shocked.

Harry reached across with his right arm, grabbed the hilt of the sword while holding the scabbard with his left hand and pulled it free in a smooth, well-practiced gesture.  He held it high for a moment before bringing it flat, resting the blade on his now open left palm and displaying it for the two to observe.  Dumbledore instantly stepped closer, bringing his glowing wand tip in for inspection.

“Caliburn of Avalon,” Dumbledore whispered as he read the ancient runes etched into the blade.  His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as his eyes shot up to Harry with disbelief etched on his every feature.  “Where did you get this sword?” he asked in a shaky, hoarse breath.

“I earned the right to wield it at the age of twelve after I passed a series of deadly trials shortly before midsummer that year.  After I managed to survive, I was taken to the lake of Afal in the center of Avalon.  There, I was greeted by the Lady of the Lake and presented with the sword.  I've carried it with me ever since.  The scabbard is enchanted, even.  The sword cannot be unsheathed by anyone except me, and it –“

“Stops wounds form bleeding freely,” Dumbledore whispered, nodding absently.  “Yes, it is legendary.”

“You know of this sword, Albus?” the witch asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh yes, Minerva.  I rather suspect you have as well, although most likely by it's more commonly known name of _Excalibur_.”

“No!” she gasped in disbelief before turning her eyes to Harry.  “The sword of the one true King?”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Hardly.  Arthur was given Caliburn by the Lady of the Lake when Merlin brought him to Avalon.  The Sword that Chooses – the one that he pulled from the stone – was a _different_ sword entirely; one that he kept for ceremonial purposes only, such as granting knighthoods.  The only time he used the Sword that Chooses in battle, was his first battle to prove his claim to the sovereignty.  After that, whenever he went into battle, it was with Caliburn at his side.  It was after the Battle of Camlan, when he was mortally wounded, that he ordered Sir Bedivere to throw the sword back out into open water, where it was caught by a hand that materialized from the water there.  That was the Lady of the Lake retrieving the sword, as had been promised when she first granted Arthur permission to carry it.  That was when she took it back to Avalon, which was the last time this sword was permitted in the Mortal Realm, therefore it should serve as some proof that Avalon is where I got it.

“Sword in the Stone or not – You truly claim that this is a sword once wielded by King Arthur?” the witch, Minerva, exclaimed incredulously.

“Caliburn is a sword for battle.  An enchanted weapon, intended to serve those with great destinies to fulfill.  Arthur is just one of many mortals who have been granted use of it's might for a short bit of time when they need it.  I am merely the latest in a long line of those deemed momentarily worthy by the Great Lady of the Lake,” Harry said firmly, holding his head high with carefully controlled defiance.

“And you're really Harry Potter,” she whispered, looking at him with a clearly stunned expression, seeming to only just start to fully process this fact.

“Why would I lie about that?” Harry asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Why indeed,” Dumbledore murmured.  “I have a great many questions for you, Mr. Potter, but I think that many of them would be better addressed indoors, rather than out here.  But I do have one that I will ask before we proceed any further.”

“Ask away venerable wizard,” Harry said with a small incline of his head and a gesture of his hand.

“What were the names of the people who Harry Potter lived with until the age of five when he disappeared?”

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly and his face went stoney.  “Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley,” he replied in a flat voice.  “They lived at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.  Is that sufficient?”

Dumbledore nodded mutely for a moment before a small sigh escaped his lips.  “Yes.  Quite.  How about we attend to that change in locations, hmm?”

“At your pleasure, sir,” Harry said as he returned his sword to it's scabbard.

And with that, Harry found himself being led back down the path and then up the steps and through a pair of enormous heavy double-doors, and into a grand entrance hall.  Harry couldn't keep from gaping open-mouthed and in awe of the magic that made up the very stones of the castle he found himself in.  The more formal mask he'd adopted outside the castle slipped away as the excited youth inside him swelled to the surface, wanting to take in every last detail of the magical castle around him.

His head kept twisting from one side to the next as his innate desire to see _everything_ pulled his eyes along each and every surface he could lay his eyes upon.  More than once he reached out and let his hands trail along the ancient gray stones, the magically woven tapestries, and the most fascinating bits of art he'd ever seen.  The paintings seemed to have been enchanted with a rudimentary sentience that went far beyond simply appearing animated.  They were interlinked and the people inside them could travel between each other freely.  Not to mention that they seemed to have an almost endless capacity for information retention that clearly went back multiple centuries for some of the paintings.

“Unbelievable,” Harry whispered as he yet again let his fingers travel along the gilded frame of one of the paintings. 

They'd been walking for several minutes now and the headmaster and the witch kept looking back at him curiously.

“What are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?” Dumbledore asked as they continued to climb yet another flight of stone stairs.

“I'm just... _looking._ ” Harry whispered and it came out rather breathy as he couldn't quite suppress the awe he felt at his surroundings.  “There's just so much magic here.  It's almost like being in the city of Affalch, but the architecture is just so _different._   I suppose it's just so _human,_ and I'm unaccustomed to associating such an clearly _human_ look with so much pure _magic.”_

“I'm not sure I quite understand what you mean,” Dumbledore said.

“Well, up until I went to Avalon, I was only ever told that magic didn't exist.  My aunt and uncle abhorred the very word, and daring to even say it was enough to warrant punishment in their home.  Of course my exposure to the rest of the world was limited, but I did occasionally watch a bit of telly, and I went to a year of primary school, and I'd never seen even the faintest hint of magic anywhere during any of that time.  For a long time, growing up in Avalon, I assumed that the mortal realm had no magic at all.  Thiten and the others insisted that it did – but I thought that perhaps it _had_ magic at one time, but had lost it over the centuries.  The Nine Ladies have had very limited contact with the mortal realm over the last thousand years, after all.”

“Ah... of course,” Dumbledore said airily, blinking slightly dazed.

“So I thought that I would come back here and find a world of automobiles, tellys, suburbs, and concrete cities.  I was quite stunned – although pleasantly so – to discover that there truly is a magical world here.”

“How did you come to discover that, by the way?” Dumbledore asked as they reached the landing for what Harry thought was the seventh floor, although it was hard to say for sure since some of the staircases had moved while they were climbing them.

“When I broke through to this realm, it was at the meeting of several key laylines on midsummer's day.  A wizard was there, performing a rite of magic at the time.  He witnessed the battle I had with Abatu, remaining hidden the whole time.   After I won, he tended to my wounds.”

“Battle with who?” Minerva asked, looking bewildered and mildly horrified.

“The Demon Lord of the Nine Deaths.  He was the reason the Nine Ladies brought me to Avalon in the first place,” Harry replied simply.

“Demon Lord?!” Minerva gasped.

“I believe that is one of the first things we will address, once in my office.  Speaking of my office – here we are,” Dumbledore said as he came to stop in front of a large stone gargoyle.  He leaned in and spoke a word that seemed rather meaningless to Harry, and the gargoyle leapt aside revealing a narrow archway and a slowly revolving spiral staircase behind it.

Harry watched it all transpire with open curiosity and fascination and stepped onto the stairs, grinning and chuckling all the while muttering under his breath about things that didn't seem to mean anything or make any sense to the other two who were riding it with him.

Finally they all entered an orderly, yet cluttered office, filled with powerfully magical trinkets and a wall of books that literally radiated with power and potential.  Harry's fingers itched to crack any number of them open and reveal what secrets lay within their old pages, but he restrained himself.  Perhaps the man would allow him access later on.

They all settled into seats – Dumbledore behind his desk, and Harry and the woman in the two chairs sitting opposite it.

“Ah, I'm not sure if proper introductions were ever made,” Dumbledore began and made a gesture towards the woman, Minerva.  “This is the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School, Professor Minerva McGonagall.”

Harry inclined his head slightly towards her.

“And as I think you know, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this school.  You... do know that this is a school, correct?”

“That is what I was told, yes,” Harry confirmed.

“Good, good.  Now, about this _demon_ you mentioned?”

Harry nodded.  “The Demon Lord Abatu was the earthly embodiment of destructive and negative energy amassed by the Order of the Nine Deaths, the enemies of the Nine Ladies of Avalon, several thousand years ago.  When the varies races of the Fae escaped the mortal realm to settle in Avalon, several of the lesser demon races wanted to go there as well because the land was so lush and bountiful.  At first this was allowed since the demon races were immortal, just as the fae were, however the demons were not happy with sharing the land and the Order of the Nine Deaths was formed by those who sought to seize control of Avalon for the demon races.  They were lead by Abatu, a supreme demon lord of tremendous power.  The two factions battled over the isle, and in the end, the Nine Ladies and the Fae were able to win, but only just barely.  They were unable to kill Abatu, but managed to place a powerful seal upon him, locking him in the ground beneath a slab of enchanted stone where he was locked for the next thousand years. 

“When that time frame was about to run out, the Soothsayers were called in to determine what could be done to keep him locked away.  It was determined that sacrificial blood needed to be spilled over the slab to recharge the power of the seal.  This was done, and they were granted another thousand years, until it was done, yet again, another thousand years after that.  During the most recent need to renew the seal, however, the soothsayers foretold that a mortal life sacrifice would likely not be enough.  It was foretold that Abatu would break free this time and that additional steps would be needed.  The initial direction given was that they needed to find a 'boy who had been killed, but did not die.'  They ended up using a scrying stone to locate the person they needed, and that person ended up being me.

“When I was brought to Avalon, the Nine were split as to what to do with me.  Some still believed that what they needed to do was cut me open over the sacrificial alter, just as had always been done in the past, but a few among them said there was reason to believe that the visions of the soothsayers indicated I might be capable of killing Abatu for good.  The possibility of getting rid of him, permanently, was enough motivation to persuade them to give me a chance.  So they trained me instead of killed me.  The last few years, on midsummer's eve, it was still necessary to spill a small bit of my blood upon the seal to try and extend it's power for another year or two, in hopes of giving me a little more time to train and prepare.  It worked the last few years, but I somehow _knew_ , going into the ritual this year, that this was going to be _it_.  I was right, but fortunately I was also prepared and had a plan.  I ended up creating a minor crack between our realms and lured Abatu through the opening after me.  I had engineered the breech a certain way, and it closed as soon as he had followed me through, cutting him off from his power source and the mechanisms that kept him protected from death.  After that, it was simply a matter of whittling him down with offensive attacks until I was able to destroy him.”

Harry finished his monolog with a small satisfied sigh and leaned back into his chair.  McGonagall was openly gaping at him, and even the aged old wizard, Dumbledore, looked rather stunned.

“You're saying that you fought and defeated a – a _demon?!”_ McGonagall exclaimed.

“Yes,” Harry replied simply.

“That's quite... tremendous,” Dumbledore said softly.  “You said that a wizard found you and healed you after the battle?”

“Yes, although once he realized who I was, he wanted nothing to do with me and refused to give me his name.  He told me to seek your aid and gave me a one-way 'port-key' to the front gates.  I am indebted to him, of course.  Without his aid, I would have died from my wounds, so I will respect his desire for anonymity, and will not assist in any attempts to identify or find him.”

“I will accept your decision, then,” Dumbledore said, frowning thoughtfully, but nodding his head.

Harry paused then, debating how to approach the next topic he felt he needed to broach.  He wanted to mention Mr. Malfoy and any information from him as little as possible to minimize the potential for Dumbledore or anyone else gaining enough clues to deduce his identity.  Finally he settled on a plausible lie and decided to press on.

“Before I left Avalon, Thiten – one of the Nine Ladies; the one in charge of the Soothsayers – told me of a vision one of her attendants had regarding my role beyond the defeat of Abatu.  She said that if I survived to return to the Mortal Realm that I was destined to face a great foe here as well.  A Dark Lord of Men.  Do you know what this might be in reference to?”

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows raised, once again, into his forehead.

“I suppose I do,” he said airily.  “There was a prophecy made, shortly before your birth, that I was witness to.  At that time, the wizarding world was heavily embroiled in a war with a powerful dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort.”

Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, that the witch, Professor McGonagall, _flinched_ at the moment Dumbledore said the name.

“The prophecy, that I was witness to, foretold the birth of a child that would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort.  Unfortunately, one of his servants overheard the first portion of the prophecy and took it to his master.  Voldemort used the information to identify the most likely candidates for the prophecised child, and targeted you and your family.  You said, earlier, that when the Ladies of Avalon first Saw who it was they had to find, that they needed to search out a boy who had been killed but did not die.  It just so happens that the night Lord Voldemort attacked your parents, he fired a Killing Curse at you, however, for reasons we do not fully understand, you did not die.  Were you at all aware of any of this?”

Harry hesitated a moment and nodded slowly.  “Somewhat.  One of the Soothsayers was able to conjure a vision with portions of the night I gained my scar and told me some of this,” Harry lied.  “But it was only bits and pieces with no context and none of it made any real sense.”

Dumbledore nodded.  “Yes, well, that night Voldemort's body was destroyed I the backlash from his failed spell against you.  He was believed destroyed and our world entered a period of peace that we have enjoyed for the last fourteen years.  However, I fear that this peace will soon be coming to an end.  I have long suspected that Voldemort was not fully _dead_ , and have just recently received intelligence to suggest that he has managed to resurrect himself a body and returned to physical form.”

Harry inclined his head, grateful that the old man already seemed to know about the Dark Lord's return, since he would have trouble insisting it were true without revealing that someone in the know had told him so.

“You said that you were witness to the prophecy before I was born?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment before nodding.  “Yes, I was.”

“Can you tell me what it said?  Word-for-word?  Prophecies are tricky things, and there are often hidden meanings buried between the lines.  I would like an opportunity to study what was Seen about me by your soothsayer in regards to this new threat I must deal with.”

“Now, I hardly see how it's reasonable for anyone to expect a fourteen year old boy to _deal with_ You-Know-Who!” McGonagall insisted instantly, looking affronted by the mere idea.  “Certainly not _by yourself!_   That's just ludicrous!  You –“

“I fully anticipate some level of assistance, especially with preparation and research,” Harry said, cutting her off, “however, I expect that when it comes to any final confrontations, I will probably have to face this man by myself.  And I hardly see how my age plays any role in things, seeing as how I have been raised from childhood in preparation for handling great responsibilities of this very nature, and have already, at the age of fourteen, defeated a demon Lord."

“Everyone just calm down,” Dumbledore put in, halting whatever it was McGonagall was about to say in return.  “Harry, I would be willing to share the memory of the prophecy with you, if that is what you truly desire.”

“It is,” Harry said firmly.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair a bit.  “I had once hoped to spare you of such heavy burdens until you had gotten older.  But then you vanished, and I feared that I had lost you, and our one best hope, forever.  I must admit that I never would have anticipated the events that unfolded regarding you.  Did... were you at least able to have an enjoyable childhood, where they took you?” he asked, looking legitimately concerned.

Harry's features softened and he smiled lightly.  “Yes.  I honestly believe that the life I lived in Avalon is leaps and bounds better than any life I could have lead, had I remained in the Mortal Realm.  It was hard, I will not deny that, but it was also great.  I wouldn't change a thing for the world.”

Dumbledore seemed to sag a bit with relief and gave Harry a small smile of his own in return.  “That is good to hear.  Now... I don't suppose you are at all familiar with a device known as a 'Pensieve', are you?”

Harry shook his head, looking at the man blankly.

“Ah, well...” Dumbledore paused, stood up and walked across the office to a large cabinet.  He opened the doors and used his wand to float a large shallow stone basin across the room and onto the desk.  He turned to the cabinet and fingered through a number of vials for a moment before picking one of them out and returning to his seat.  “This, is a pensieve, and _this_ – “ he indicated the vial in his hand, “is a _memory.”_

Harry nodded his head, but his eyes were latched firmly onto the surface of the stone basin.  There were runes physically etched into the outer lip of it, but he could see a great many more magical runes woven into it, visible only to him.  It was a remarkable artifact.

“Now, Minerva, you know this is nothing personal and that I trust you fully, however I have always felt that the fewer people who know the precise wording of the prophacy, the better it is for everyone.  I would like to ask that you give Harry and myself some time alone.”

The woman quickly stood up.  “Of course, Albus,” she said before giving the both of them parting words and leaving the office.

After that, Harry watched as the old wizard poured the contents of the vial into the bowl and then explained how to 'enter' the memory and what to expect of the experience.  Harry found himself rather reluctant to dip his face into the silvery fluid, and had to take a few extra moments to force himself forward.

Being _in_ the memory was a truly bizarre experience.  Everything around him was made of magic, and it was a bit of an overload to his senses.  He had trouble focusing on the 'visual' stimuli, as the magical input was just so great and overbearing.  He ended up having to ask Dumbledore to start the whole thing over two times before he was able to focus enough to watch the actual prophecy as it was made, and not focus instead of the thousand other things his mind wanted to catalog instead.

Finally the pair left the memory and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he found himself back in the real world.

Harry sat for several minutes after that just going over the words of the prophecy in his mind and dissecting them for meaning.  He knew it was something he would likely ponder over for a long time to come, actually, but he wondered what conclusions the man sitting opposite him might have already made on his own.

The line, 'mark him as his equal' held some significant meaning for Harry that he doubted the wizard opposite him would fully appriciate, and wondered what Dumbledore might have made of the line, so he asked him.

“Well, I suspect it can be taken literally to some extent.  He clearly did 'mark' you, so to speak,” Dumbledore said, motioning his hand slightly as an indication of Harry's forehead.  “There were two potential candidates for the prophecy, you and another child who was born one day earlier to friends of your parents, however it was _you_ that Voldemort chose, and _you_ that ended up being 'marked'.”

“But what bout the 'equal' bit?” Harry asked, watching the man closely in curiosity.

“It is hard to say for sure,” Dumbledore said with a regretful shrug and a small smile.

Harry nodded his head slowly and finally shrugged as well, unwilling to share any other details and meanings he had derived on his own yet.

“What do _you_ think the 'power he knows not' might be?” Harry asked, wondering if the man had come up with theories of his own without any information on Harry or his skills.

“Well, I will admit that I do not have a very detailed picture on your various abilities, however I do know a great deal about Voldemort.  I have known him since he was eleven years old, when his name was Tom Riddle.  He was a student of mine for seven years, and an adversary for a great deal longer than that after he had donned the moniker of Lord Voldemort.  I rather doubt there is much of anything that he couldn't master, as long as he set his mind to it, however if there is one thing that I feel he is utterly incapable of understanding, it is... _love._ ”

Harry cocked a single expectantly dubious eyebrow.  “Love?”

“I have long contended that _Love_ is a more powerful form of magic than any we teach here.  It is a power that Lord Voldemort will never understand, and will always underestimate.  He considers it a _weakness_ to care for someone to such a powerful extent.”

“O–kay...” Harry said slowly.

“Your mother died to save you, because she loved you so deeply.  Lord Voldemort didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign – to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.”

Harry's eyebrow only raised higher in his forehead.  “So you think that... because my mum _loved_ me... I didn't die... and it left a power in me that Voldemort can't have because he's never loved anyone.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said with a soft nod.

“R-ight,” Harry said slowly, clearly questioning the man's sanity with his tone alone.  “Now, I'll admit I don't know much about the killing curse, or this world, but as I understand it, I was the only person to ever be hit by this killing curse thing and _not die_.  Right?”

“Correct.”

“Yes, I rather doubt I was the only child whose mum loved him as 'deeply' as my mum did, nor was my mum the only one who begged for their child's life, or stood in the way of a killing curse.  I have trouble believing that it was _love_ that protected me from death that day.  Is that _really_ your explanation?”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, eyes wide slightly with apparent surprise for a moment before he let out a small sigh and clasped his hands over his beard.  He seemed to consider things for a few minutes before he nodded his head as if he'd come to a decision and turned his attention back on Harry.

“If you wish it, I will tell you my complete theory.  I will reiterate however, that it is a _theory_ _._  Are you familiar at all with magically binding agreements?”

Harry nodded his head and sat forward in his seat.  “If Magic considers an promise to be binding, you can't break that promise.  If you do, Magic will punish you for your insolence in the face of it's might.”

Dumbledore's brows were the ones that raised slightly at this, but he nodded his head slowly.  “Yes.  Well, I believe that Voldemort made a _promise_ to someone, and didn't realize at the time that it was taken by _Magic_ to be a binding agreement, and then Magic held him to it.”

“Explain,” Harry urged, leaning forward in his seat in interest.

“I told you already that one of Voldemort's followers overheard the first part of the prophecy.  Later on, that very same follower made a personal request of Voldemort.  He asked that he spare your mother's life.  Voldemort agreed to this request as payment for the follower having brought in the prophecy in the first place.  Because of this, I believe that magic took the agreement as magically binding. 

“That much I know as fact from reports of the follower involved.  I can only speculate as to what happened on the night when your parents actually died, but I believe that your mother offered up her life in exchange for _yours_. accepted carpeted the exchange so the promise to spare your mother transferred to you, and as such, Voldemort was not punished when he killed her, despite his promise to the follower.  Had he stopped there, he would have still been within the promise he made, however when he turned his wand on you, it was in direct violation of the magically binding agreement, and so –“

“Magic protected me and punished him for his defiance,” Harry said in a soft voice, slowly nodding his head.  This made sense.  Only the power of Magic as a natural force could defy a piece of magic that was supposed to be undefeated and unblockable. 

“It was still your mother's love for you that gave her the strength to stand, unarmed, before the most powerful and frightening dark wizard of the time and beg for the life of her son,” Dumbledore put forward gently.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes.

Harry wouldn't outwardly dismiss Dumbledore's insistence that 'Love' was a potentially powerful force.  Magic fueled by truly powerful emotions could be the most unpredictable and volatile of magics, but Harry still rather doubted it would be magic based on _love_ that would be the deciding factor in any duels he might have with this Lord Voldemort in the future.

Besides, there were a lot more human emotions than just _love_ that Voldemort had cut himself off from by mutilating his soul to such an extensive degree, if the man had truly made multiple soul anchors.

“Right,” Harry finally said with a decisive sort of tone.  “Well, I suppose I'll think on the prophecy more later.  It's not the sort of thing that you can really work out overnight.  Rushing things like that just leads to misinterpretation, and jumping to inaccurate conclusions.  Of course, it's also quite common for things like this to actually secretly tell more than one potential outcome, if read right.  You never know for sure.  I suppose that's why divination is such a delicate field.  Put it into the wrong hands and you're setting yourself up for disaster,” Harry said with a lop-sided grin and a small chuckle.

“From what I have heard of your life up until now, it certainly sounds like you've had your fair share of dealings with seers.”

Harry snorted and nodded his head.  “You could certainly say that.  Actually, out of the Nine Ladies, Thiten was one of those who took the largest role in looking after me.  She was the one who oversaw all of Avalon's soothsayers, and was the one who was most insistent that it was important that I be kept alive and not simply offered up as a sacrifice.  She believed the most strongly that I could defeat Abatu for good.”

“Fascinating.  Well, I am most certainly grateful to her then.”

“Especially since you need me to deal with your Dark Lord,” Harry said back, with a smirk.

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn.  “Harry... I am most certainly grateful that you seem so willing to take up the helm of our fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort, but you should know that I am relieved to discover you alive and well for far greater reasons than just that.  I cared a great deal for your parents, and for you.  When, as a child, you were discovered to be missing, I was terribly distraught, and not simply for such selfish reasons as concerns over a prophecy left unfulfilled.  I felt... responsible, for your life and well being.  In many ways, I very much _was_ responsible for it.  It was I, who left you in the care of the Dursley's, and when we began our investigation into your disappearance, it quickly became apparent that I had made a rather grave error in judgement.  They... they were not _kind_ to you... were they?”

Harry's face went stony and he looked away at a far wall, filled with books.  “No,” he said simply.

“I owe you far more than just simple apologies... I do hope that you may find it in your heart to forgive an old man for his mistakes.  I had hoped that your mother's sister would take you in and love you like her own son.  It had not even occurred to me to consider the full extent of the bitterness and envy Petunia still held in her heart, nor that she would be so petty as to direct that anger towards an innocent child.”

Harry waved his hand and shook his head.  “It's been a very long time for me.  It was not a good time in my life, and I prefer not to think about it.  I've moved on.  Let's not mention it again.”

“If that is what you wish.”

“It is.”

“Very well.  In that case, I suppose that we should probably begin making plans for where to go from here.  For now, I will have one of the castle's guest rooms set up to accommodate you.  You said before you have nothing of value of your own – am I to assume this means you are also lacking in clothing?”

“Er, yeah, that's right.  I've got my bag of holding, miniaturized, and attached to my belt, and my sword, but that's all I had on me when I passed between worlds for the battle.”

“I shall have a change of clothing prepared for you to use tonight and tomorrow.  I believe that the goblins kept the Potter account frozen after the Ministry declared you dead, rather than closing it.  The goblins insisted that they had their own way of detecting when a client was in fact deceased, and your vault still insisted you lived.  I have to admit, it was one of the few things that gave me hope over the years.”

“Wait – goblins?  Vault?” Harry said, shaking his head and frowning in confusion.

“Ah, sorry.  Here in Wizarding Britain, our money is mostly handled through a Goblin-run banking system known as Gringott's.  Your father's family, the Potters, have banked with Gringott's for generations and before their death, your parents arranged for a trust fund to be accessible to you until the age of seventeen, when you would gain control over the family vault.  I am still in possession of the key – although I haven't had access to it personally, since the account is frozen.  I believe I should be able to find it around here somewhere.  We can make the trip to London, and to the bank, to see if you can regain access to your families money.  I thought it might be reassuring to know that you are not truly as penniless as you feared yourself to be.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking in legitimate shock.  “I see.  Well... that's... good, then.”

“I thought you might think so,” Dumbledore said with a warm grin.  “You will be able to acquire your own clothing and supplies after that.  For now, however, I suppose we ought to see to your sleeping arrangements for this evening.  Mipsy!” Dumbledore called out and Harry only had a second to prepare himself for the sudden compression and then expansion of the magic in the air as one of those strange little house elf creatures popped into existence in the room.

Harry watched her with wide eyes as Dumbledore instructed her to prepare one of the guest rooms for Harry, and she then popped away.

“What _are_ those, exactly?” Harry inquired curiously, after she had vanished.

“Ah, sorry again.  That was Mipsy, one of the school's house elves.”

“ _House_ elves?” Harry said, still having trouble understanding how such a strange, wrinkled little thing could be associated in any way, even if only in name, to the creatures he knew of as elves.  “But they're not actually related at all to elves, right?”

“Elves?”

“You know, like the Drow, or the High Elves, or the Blood Elves?  I mean, I've seen loads of different races among the fae that are considered elves, or even distant relations of an elven race, but they were all... well, they were _beautiful_ creatures.  They were nothing like... er...” Harry grimaced, wishing he could come up with some way of saying what he wanted without being outright insulting to the poor little things he'd seen twice now.

Dumbledore's eyes widened with interest.  “There are elven races on Avalon?”

“They make up the majority of the population,” Harry said with a nod.

“Amazing,” Dumbledore said in a quiet, but exuberant tone.  “How many people live on Avalon?”

Harry frowned.  “Er... I really don't know, for sure.  The island is really very large.  Probably only a bit smaller than Ireland.  There's the capitol city, Affalch, which is fairly densely populated, I suppose, and quite large.  It's mostly High Elves, but there's also a large population of Drow and Dryads there as well.  The Gentry, the Oakmen, and the Leprechauns mostly inhabit various smaller villages around the eastern side of the island.  The second largest city was Dinas Affaraon, in the mountains, and it has a large population of Blood Elves, more High Elves, lots of Sidhe, and Urisks.  The alchemists guild is in Dinas Affaraon, as well as the metallurgists and the Smithing guild.  It's said that Caliburn was forged there, thousands of years ago, before being given to the Lady of the Lake.

“There's a village where the twisting river leaves the Great Lake to the ocean that has mostly Naiads and Selkie living in it.  There's also a cove along the southern edge of Avalon where the water is calm and there's another larger sea village there, but they don't like me much, so I've only seen it once and only very briefly.”

“Truly... amazing,” Dumbledore whispered in awe for a moment before he smiled quite widely.  “Such a wondrously diverse and magical place.  We have so few legends that have any detail pertaining to Avalon.  Do you by chance know how it came to have so many magical species, all in one place?”

“It's said that the Nine isolated it with their magicks, thousands upon thousands of years ago when they foresaw the coming rise in power and population of Man.  It was intended to be a place where the magical and immortal races of the fae could escape and survive the coming apocalypse.”

Dumbledore's face paled and he grew visibly grave.  “Coming _what_?”

“Oh, it's still probably another thousand years off,” Harry said with a dismissive wave.  “They're big on being prepared   _really_ early for stuff.”

“But what do you _mean_ , Harry?   Coming _Apocalypse_?”

“Well, it was foretold _ages_ ago that the human race would eventually destroy the world.  It's inevitable.  Thiten told me once that she was convinced it would happen when the non-magical races of men waged war against their magical counterparts.  At the time, I was still rather dubious as to whether or not there even _were_ still magical humans left here, but now that I've seen all this, I suppose she might actually be right about all that.  In any case, she was equally convinced that we were still at least another millennium away from it actually happening... or at least a few centuries,” Harry added with a sheepish shrug.

“That is... quite unsettling,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice.

“It's also inevitable,” Harry stated flatly.

“I prefer not to think that any such level of destruction, would be entirely unavoidable.”

“And yet you also clearly hold some level of faith in prophecy,” Harry pointed out.

“Ah, but prophecy, as you have already said, can often be misinterpreted.”

Harry gave a conceding sort of gesture and chuckled for a few moments before settling back in his chair with a soft grin on his lips.

“I suppose we have gotten quite distracted,” Dumbledore said a few silent beats later.

“Yes, I suppose we really have.  I really do appreciate you being willing and able to put me up in the castle, and with this whole thing about me having a bank vault, I suppose I can find out if I've got enough in there to afford my own housing, so hopefully I won't have to impose on your kindness for too long.”

“Oh, don't be silly!  You can't waste away your trust fund on housing expenses when you have other options.  You can remain here in the castle for as long as needed.  I do, however, have another location in mind that we might move you to, soon.  I must make sure the final preparations are made though.  I've just recently finished adding a new level of warding to the property, so it should be sufficiently safe for you.”

Harry hesitated but shrugged.  “If you're sure.  I know I've just sort of come out of nowhere – well, no; I've _literally_ come out of no where.  I don't want to be a burden.  There are things I can do in an effort to earn some of my room and board.”

“Don't even give it a thought.  No matter what expectations might weigh upon your shoulders, you are still just a boy, and it is now my responsibility to see to your health and safety.”

Harry's brows raised into his forehead slightly.  He hesitated a moment before nodding slowly.  “Alright.”

“Yes, well, the room should be ready by now.  How about we make our way there?”

Harry shrugged and began to stand up.  “Fine by me.”

 

– –

_The following day..._

Severus Snape swept gracefully out of the fireplace Floo into Number 12 Grimmauld Place and found himself facing a large room filled with various witches and wizards all sitting around the long kitchen table that sat there.  He gave the group a disdainful sneer.  He was treated with cautious looks and a few outright glares, but he paid them no mind and quickly strode across the room towards the back and placed himself in a shadowed corner where he could clearly see the door and the fireplace. 

It was only the second time that they'd all been officially called together, and the first time they'd been called, en mass, in this particular location.  His lip curled up in disgust as he let his eyes sweep over the filthy room he found himself in.  It was a large basement kitchen, intended to be used primarily by the house help and house elves.  From what he understood, the house had sat empty for the better part of the last decade with no one to maintain it except for a single mad old elf who hadn't bothered to even _dust_. 

He knew that the Weasley matriarch had been attending to the house over the last week in an attempt to make it reasonably habitable.  She had clearly failed. 

His own 'home away from home' on Spinner's End that he had secluded himself for the last two weeks since the end of term, was never a prime example of good housekeeping, but it was still preferable to this awful hole.  But then again, he also knew that it hadn't been part of the plan to open this house up to the Order quite this soon.  This meeting was quite unexpected.

Sound from beyond the door into the kitchen drew his shrewd gaze and he watched as the door was pushed open and in walked the sunken and pathetic form of his school age nemesis, Sirius Black, followed, or rather, _pushed forward_ by the werewolf, Lupin.  Black looked just as vacant and pathetic as he had the last few times that Severus had had the misfortune of being in the man's presence since he escaped from Azkaban two years prior.

Severus supposed he wasn't really _that_ surprised to learn that the man hadn't been a Death Eater, and hadn't been responsible for the betrayal of his friends, but that certainly wasn't enough to assuage his deep seeded loathing of the man.  Realizing that this disgusting hovel was apparently the home in which Black had grown up, did actually bring a small smirk to his lips, though.

While Dumbledore had informed the Order as a whole as to the reality of Black's apparent innocence and wrongful imprisonment, it didn't change the fact that, officially, he was still a wanted man, and was thus trapped within the confines of the disgusting house Severus now found himself in, on a constant basis.  Again, another slight appeasement to Severus' old wounds and anger.

The man in question looked to be barely a shell of his former self.  It had only been the efforts of Lupin's constant observation that had kept the filthy mongrel from offing himself after that rat bastard Pettigrew escaped.  Azkaban had clearly taken it's toll on the man.  Severus knew he was being a cold-hearted bastard, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to pity Black.  Perhaps he didn't deserve quite as bad as he'd gotten, but he had certainly deserved _something_.

Severus' mind was drawn back to the room as the Floo activated again and out of it spun Albus Dumbledore, followed by Minerva McGonagall.  Lupin finished leading Black over to a pair of seats just as Dumbledore greeted the room and took a seat at the head of the table.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Albus said, smiling at them all with that frustratingly warm smile of his and his ever-sparkling eyes.  “However I am glad to be able to tell you all that I have considerably better news this time than I did the last time we gathered.”

There were a few very awkward and weak laughs from a couple people in the gathered crowd, but mostly were just looking around with a mixture of hope and wariness. 

Dumbledore stood from his seat and rested his hands on the table in front of him, leaning forward slightly.

“Harry Potter... is _alive_.”

Silence reigned in the dimly lit room for several heavy beats.

“What?” Black said in a hoarse whisper.

“Harry Potter appeared at the gates of Hogwarts last night, and is presently relaxing in one of Hogwart's many guest quarters.”

“W-hah... how?” Black stuttered, slowly standing to his feet and jaw gaping in stunned shock.

“Oh my goodness!  Is the boy healthy?  Where has he been?” Molly Weasley asked.

“That, is a most remarkable story, actually,” Dumbledore said, grinning and sitting back down in his chair.

“Oh, get on with it Albus,” McGonagall muttered in barely concealed exasperation.

Dumbledore glanced over at her and there was a faint glint of amusement in his eyes before he turned his attention back on the gathered group of witches and wizards.

“As you all know, Harry Potter vanished the summer before he turned six.  We did not learn of his disappearance until some months after the fact, but that, of course did not slow our efforts in searching for him, once we realized we needed to. The reason that we could not find him after he vanished, no matter what methods we used to try and divine his location, is because he was no longer in this realm during that time.  If Harry Potter himself is to believed – and, at this point, I _do_ believe that what he has told me is the truth – then at the age of five, he came face to face with three of the Nine Ladies of – _Avalon._   They used a scrying stone to identify him because they apparently had a prophecy of their own with him as the central figure.  They took him back with them to the isle of Avalon, where he has been raised and trained in their seemingly unique brand of magic.”

“Is this a joke?” Hestia Jones asked incredulously.

“I assure you I am being entirely serious,” Dumbledore said.  “The High Elves of Avalon had a Demon Lord to deal with, and ten years ago, their soothsayers told them that Harry was the one person who could deal with it.  They trained and prepared him, and just over a week ago, on Mid-Summer's day, the seal holding the demon in place finally broke and Harry was left to face it.  Apparently in dealing with the demon lord in question, he broke through the barrier between the realm of Avalon and our own realm of mortals, brought the demon with him, and they battled here, where the demon was cut off from his power and weakened from his long time spent sealed.  Harry, using the sword Caliburn, gifted to him by the Lady of the Lake herself, fought and defeated the demon.  He was found by a wizard who healed his wounds and, upon realizing who he was, sent him to me.”

The room was silent.

Severus didn't know what to think.  Surely the man had finally gone senile.

“Y-you're telling me that my godson, grew up in _Avalon_ , raised by _elves_ , and trained to fight a _demon,”_ Sirius rasped, openly gaping.

“And he _defeated_ the demon,” Dumbledore said, smiling excitedly.

“B-but... but he's just a boy!” Molly Weasley all but wailed.  “He'd be the same age as our Ronald!  Is he even fifteen yet?!”

“Ah... not quite.  He'll be turning fifteen at the end of July,” Dumbledore said sheepishly.

“A fourteen year old boy fought and defeated a _demon?_ An _actual demon?!”_ Nymphadora Tonks exclaimed as her hair shifted from purple to hot pink.

“Albus –“ Dedalus Diggle put out shakily, drawing a few gazes towards him, since he didn't often speak out in groups, “did you say that he had the sword – _Caliburn?”_ he whispered with wide eyes.

Dumbledore's smile split across his face again and he nodded his head rather enthusiastically.  “Yes!  He has it with him and he allowed me to examine it further this morning.  He refused to go out without it on his belt and I had to take him to Gringott's, so I had to make sure it was properly hidden and disillusioned before we went out into public, of course.”

“Oh, what's this, now?  What are you two on about?” Moody asked in an annoyed growl.  “A _sword?_ And you said _Lady of the Lake?_   You're really serious, Albus?  _Avalon?  Demons?_   You honestly believe this nonsense?  How can you be sure that this boy is even really Potter?”

“ _This_ is why I say you need to do away with Binns!  We don't even know our own history anymore,” Diggle said, sounding almost disgusted.  “Caliburn is _Excalibur!_   The sword, given to King Arthur by the Lady of the Lake after he was taken to Avalon by Merlin!”

“The Sword in the Stone?” Tonks asked, in shock.

“Actually, no,” Dumbledore said, “Harry was rather insistent that the Sword in the Stone and the sword Caliburn were two very different swords.”

“Well, he's right,” Diggle said, indignantly.  “I don't know how people can think that Arthur could possibly pull the sword from the stone to prove his sovereign right to the thrown _and_ then later on visit Avalon and get the sword from the Lady of the Lake, as well. You can't get the same sword twice, two different ways."

“We are getting seriously side tracked here!” Black exclaimed, jolting to his feet again and making a frustrated sound when Lupin made to pull him back down.  “You're really serious?  Harry is back at Hogwarts, right now? My godson is alive, and at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Black jumped up from his seat again and made for the door before Lupin even had a chance to grab him again.

"Sirius!" Lupin exclaimed.

"It is my intention to bring him here," Dumbledore called out, and Black hesitated just as he had grabbed the door handle.

"Here?" Black rasped, turning back around slowly.

"Yes, here."

"Are you sure about this, Albus?" Moody asked with narrowed eyes.  "How can you honestly be sure he's not an imposter?  It certainly wouldn't be the first time you were hoodwinked."

Dumbledore gave his old friend an apologetic grimace. "I took the boy to see Madam Pomfrey this morning, to check on his health as well as verify certain claims he had made.  He permitted her a small bit of blood and she ran it through a paternity spell.  His father _is_ James Potter.  Her spells also verified that he was born on July 31st, 1980.  He is not under any glamours, or Polyjuice, and there was no indication of any charms or enchantments active on his person to disrupt or fool our spells.  He also looks remarkably like his father did at that age, although he wears his hair much longer, and has Lily's striking green eyes.  Not to mention he bares the scar on his forehead that Harry Potter is so well known for, and my spells indicate that it was not faked and that it is the proper age.  I am quite convinced of his identity. He was not employing any form of occlumency, and I could detect no strong duplicity in him when we spoke."

"You used Legilimency on a fourteen year old boy?!" Molly Weasley exclaimed.

"Just a surface impression, my dear.  Nothing intrusive of his private memories, I guarantee."

She still gave him a bit of a stink eye, but backed down.

"I for one would be angry if he _hadn't_ at least checked," Moody grumbled, and Molly Weasley gave him a sharp glare.

"Okay, so we're really going with this 'Harry Potter is alive thing," Tonks began, "But is it wise to bring him to the Order's headquarters, when we really don't know anything about him?"

"This is _my_ house, and he's _my_ godson!  He damn well –" Sirius bellowed defensively, but Dumbledore cut him off with a hand movement.

"This is the safest place for him to go at this point.  I do not feel comfortable keeping him in Hogwarts during the summer when the castle is so sparsely populated, and most of my time is spent away from it attending to my other duties, and there are people of less than trustworthy caliber who have right to come and go as they please."

Tonks screwed up her face and gave a questioning look at Hestia Jones beside her who leaned over and whispered _'The School Governors'_ to her.

"Oh!  You mean Lucius Malfoy!" Tonks said in realization. Several of those around the room gave her exasperated looks, but attention was quickly drawn back to Dumbledore.

"I will bring Harry here as soon as I know there is actually a clean bed for him to sleep in... Which I am not sure exists here _just_ yet," Dumbledore said with a chuckle.  Several people around the room snorted quietly.

"It will," Black said instantly. "I'll have a room all set up for him by night fall."

"I'll help," Molly Weasley injected a moment later.

Severus noticed a slight tightness to the grateful smile Black gave the woman.  In fact, it was less of a grateful smile than it was a grimace.  

"That is fine, however I will not be bringing him until tomorrow morning, at the earliest, so you have a little more time than that," Dumbledore replied genially.

Black seemed to deflate a bit at that, but the werewolf gave his shoulder a squeeze and whispered something into his ear that seemed to renew the man's spirits and determination.

Conversation continued on for some time after that with issues being brought up about the Ministry, some iffy looking legislation proposed before the Wizengamot by a few known Voldemort sympathizers and potential Death Eaters, and some things a few members had overheard in pubs. Finally the meeting was disbanded.  Black instantly cornered Dumbledore with more questions, and Severus hung back to silently observe.

"It will be fine, Sirius," the aged wizard assured finally, resting his hands on Black's boney shoulders.  "You will see him in the morning. Why don't you start preparing a room for him, hm?"

Black nodded absently, muttering under his breath for a moment before sighing and nodding his head more firmly.  Finally he left and Severus was left alone in the kitchen with Dumbledore.  He threw a locking charm at the door, cast an imperturbable spell on it and then a higher level privacy ward just for added security.

"Potter is really alive?" Severus asked after the old wizard had looked at him expectantly for a minute.

"Yes.  I truly believe that this is Harry Potter, and he is quite clearly alive and well."

Severus nodded his own head slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around this earth shattering revelation, and what it would mean for him.

"He's quite proper and polite, when he wants to be,” Dumbledore pressed on. “He seems mature beyond his years most of the time, but then I get a glimpse of an awestruck youth and the wonder of a young child, and even the occasional hint of buried mischievousness and humor.”

Severus scoffed. "Oh yes, I'm sure. Probably skilled at winning over authority figures and then sneaking around and causing havoc bright under their noses, just like his _father_."

"Oh, I don't know about that.  In all honesty, Harry reminded me very little of James. Not even much of Lily, for that matter, although some of her inquisitiveness was certainly there. He looked quite like his father, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended between the two of them.  I can only suspect how vastly different their childhoods could have been."

Severus harrumphed and looked away to scowl at a wall.

"He was raised by elves?" Severus finally asked.

"That is what he said.  He said that 'Thiten', one of the Nine Ladies of Avalon, and the one in charge of the island's Soothsayers, played the largest role in looking after him."

Severus shot him an incredulous look. "He was raised by an elven _seer_!?"

"It would seem so."

Severus grimaced in distaste.  “You said earlier that the elves took him to Avalon because they had a prophecy of their own?  They expected him to defeat a demon for them.”

“And he did, yes.”

“So he was raised, knowing he was expected to fulfill a prophecy, and as soon as he'd managed to do it, he find himself here...” Severus trailed off before turning and pinning Dumbledore with a suspicious glare, “does he know of _our_ prophecy regarding him?”

“He does,” Dumbledore said, nodding seriously.

Severus' eyes widened in surprise.

“You told him?”

“Only after he specifically asked me about it.  Apparently the elven soothsayers also Saw that he had a destiny to fulfill when he returned to our realm.  They specifically mentioned defeating a Dark Lord of Men, and he asked me if I knew anything about that.”

“And so you told him,” Severus scoffed and shook his head, looking away at a distant wall again.

“It seemed the prudent thing to do.  Honestly...” Dumbledore hesitated and gave a heavy sigh after a moment of thought.  Finally, he pressed on, “honestly, I have to admit that this might perhaps work in our benefit.  I had once hoped to isolate Harry from his fame and his fate in hopes of granting him a normal childhood.  One free from all of the heavy expectations of our world, resting upon his shoulders.  One where he wasn't famous, and wasn't raised to defeat dark wizards.

“But my hopes were dashed when he vanished and was eventually declared dead.  Harry ended up going through everything I had hoped to save him from.  In Avalon, he was the only mortal.  He told me this morning while we visited Gingotts that everyone on on the Isle of Avalon knew who he was and why he was there.  They all _knew_ that he was expected to save them.  He was raised – _trained_ – with this goal in mind the whole time.  Preparation in all regards... and it apparently worked.  He did in fact defeat the undefeatable, and live to tell the tale.  He told me that for the last few years he has been convinced that he would not survive his battle with Abatu – the demon.  That he tried to live his life to it's fullest so he could face death with no regrets.  But now he has survived only to once again face the same fate.

“Would he have been nearly so prepared had I had my way?  Would he truly have enjoyed his life better?  I must admit that at least the second answer is undoubtedly no.”

“With _those_ muggles?  Honestly, Albus, _I hated_ his father and even I cannot believe that you left him with _Petunia_ and her disgusting walrus of a husband.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily.  “I know, Severus.  I shall never forgive myself for my great folly in that regard.”

They were silent for a few moments after that and Severus let his mind wander over it all lightly.

“It sounds as if he was rather accepting of his... _fate_ , with the elves.”

“It sounded that way to me as well.  He did mention a time when he was younger when he rebelled a bit against it all, but that he eventually moved past any bitterness in regards to it all and instead focused on what he could _do_ about it and what _his_ reasons were for doing it.  He was quite eloquent, actually.”

“Really,” Severus said dryly in a sarcastic tone.  “So is he equally _accepting_ of his fate _here?_ ”

Dumbledore hummed, slowly nodding his head.  “It was quite shocking, really, just _how_ accepting of it he was.  I suppose I must admit that this is what will likely work in our best interests.  It is an awful thing for me to say, but we do _need_ him, Severus.  And the elves of Avalon have trained him to be exactly what we need.”

Severus scoffed bitterly.  “Your perfect little martyr.  Your _weapon_.”

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh.  “I still have my hopes that he will not have to die.”

“Not if your theories about how the Dark Lord has managed to _not die_ are correct,” Severus snapped.  “Speaking of which... you said that you scanned his scar... was it...?”

Dumbledore's eyes closed and his head dipped as his shoulders sagged in defeat.  “It was,” he whispered.

Severus felt a horrible pit settle into his gut and slowly found himself sinking into one of the chairs.  “So you were right.  The Dark Lord truly did mutilate his soul in such a way.”

“It would appear so.”

“So now, not only do we have to figure out what these unidentified objects might actually be, _and_ find them, but also _kill_ Harry Potter?  Because that's what it's going to come down to – you know that, don't you?  If he really is –“

“No.  We will do nothing of the sort,” Dumbledore cut him off sharply.  “I am convinced there must be another way.  Since I had accepted the unfortunate likelihood that Harry was, in fact dead, it was not a matter that I have given a lot of consideration to before now, but I am convinced that I can figure something out, given some time.  At the very least, I am sure that _we_ will not be doing anything of the sort.”

Severus scoffed and looked away again.

“I cannot play any direct role in leading the boy to die,” he said in a quieter voice.

“I know, Severus.”

“The debt –“

“I know.”

Severus sighed and nodded his head slowly.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand that's all folks.
> 
> That's as far as I got before this particular plot bunny scampered away and I got distracted by some other rabbid little creature that demanded to be written down.
> 
> Like all the rest, it's up for adoption, should someone feel inclined. Please note that it's been nearly two years since I wrote this and do not have any notes, or any clear memory of where I might have intended to go with it.


End file.
